


What Is Left

by Tumbleweed_run



Series: Willa Louise Watson [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Parentlock, Rimming, Torture, canon divergence- post season3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 88,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8948095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tumbleweed_run/pseuds/Tumbleweed_run
Summary: Six years.Sherlock had not stepped foot on British soil in nearly six years.The ‘suicide mission’ MI6 had handed him had taken a mere five months to complete and hadn’t been as lethal as they hoped.  The government had not fallen for Mycroft's last bid to rescue Sherlock from exile and yet the world went on. Six years and a countless number of missions later, Sherlock returns to London.Canon divergence after His Last Vow. No TAB and no season 4.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started this months ago but after watching the series in prep for season 4 I renewed interest in it.
> 
> *I'm running without a beta or a britpicker. All mistakes are mine and I apologize in advanced*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has happened in the nearly six years Sherlock has been gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a beast.  
> I would not expect chapters of this length moving forward.

At 4:27 am on January 5th, six days after Sherlock stepped on a plane and after sixteen hours of labor, Willa Louise Watson was born. Being just over six pounds and 48 centimeters long she was just a tiny thing in the doctors palm but her lungs were anything but. She screamed her displeasure at the world while being held up and announced, she screamed while John cut the cord, she screamed during her assessments, and when she was finally wrapped up and placed in her father’s arms she squinted at him from beneath red lids and promptly screamed louder.

John couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.

At three hours old the Watsons finally settled on a name. Mary had relented and allowed John to choose her first name. John wasn’t entirely sure she meant it, that it wasn’t another gesture to get herself back on his good side but he allowed it. Mary had been utterly surprised when John had suggested the name.

“Willa? Really? Not Sherley or Lochlyn?” Mary didn’t know and John wasn’t about to tell her.

Louise was Mary’s contribution and John didn’t bother to ask where it came from, he found he didn’t care.

It was noon when both Willa and Mary were finally asleep that it hit John that the one person he wanted to tell first about the birth of his daughter was gone, likely forever. He made it to an empty waiting room two floors below before breaking down.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He had wanted to ask Sherlock to be Willa’s Godfather even though he knew the other man would have scoffed at the religious implications. He had wanted to watch Sherlock hold her for the first time while taking photos of the inevitable awkwardness that would ensue. He wanted the option to call Sherlock at two in the morning when Willa wouldn’t sleep because he knew the other man would be awake and would undoubtedly have some science based suggestion of calming a colicky baby.  

John wanted Sherlock.

Right at that moment John hated Mary just as badly as he had hated Moriarty. It was her fault Sherlock was gone. If she had been honest with John just once maybe none of this would have happened. Sherlock killed Magnussen to protect them and it was Mary’s fault they needed that protection in the first place.

Part of John wanted to run upstairs, take Willa and just hide away from it all.

He didn’t.

Willa had been born three weeks early. Not early enough she was at any real risk but early enough the doctors wanted them to stay an extra day to make sure she didn’t develop any complications.

Mary hated every second and John took an inappropriate amount of pleasure from it.

They had been home a week and John was standing at the sink washing one of a hundred tiny bottle parts, Mary hadn’t wanted to breast feed ‘I carried her for 37 weeks, time someone else takes care of her’, when a black SUV crawled slowly by the window.  John sighed and shut off the tap.

The vehicle was idling just down the block when he finally got out the door and not surprisingly Mycroft was seated in the back.

“I believe congratulations are in order Doctor Watson.” Mycroft said mildly as John slid in.

John just stared.

“What an interesting name choice.” Mycroft continued over John’s silence.

John rolled his eyes and sighed. “Sentiment, Mycroft, I don’t expect you to understand.”

Mycroft looked up and his gaze seemed to pin John to the seat. For just a second it was easy to see the relation between Sherlock and his brother. “I may not regularly participate in sentiment but I do understand it, at least in this case. My brother-”

“Your brother is gone. Is he dead yet I wonder? Hmm?” John snapped unable to listen to platitudes about Sherlock.

“He was alive as of three days ago.” Mycroft confessed.

John crossed his arms over his chest and looked out the window. “For how long?”

Silence prevailed for another minute before Mycroft chose to speak. “I did everything I could at the time to give him a chance.” Both men winced thinking of the failed return of Moriarty plot. “Believe it or not, John, this was his best chance for survival. But I made a promise to my brother before he left.”

John finally looked over at Mycroft.

“I promised him I would continue to look out for you and your family, that was his only request.” Mycroft explained, his tone almost soft.

Rage rose up in John’s chest at the injustice of it. “Yeah well we don’t need your protection _now_ , Sherlock took care of it already. So, you may kindly remove yourself from my life.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed. “Surely you’ve realized not all threats were a result of my brother.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” John yelled throwing his hands up in frustration.

Mycroft said nothing.

John shoved open the door and stormed back to his boring little house on the quaint little street. He bypassed Mary and jogged up the stairs to where Willa was napping. Not caring one bit if he woke her, John scooped her out of the crib.

He went back to work three weeks after Willa was born, simply because he needed to get out of that house. There were moments, days even, when everything was nearly perfect. John could look at Mary and remember who he fell in love with. Most of the time though Mary would speak and it took every ounce of John’s willpower not to scream at her to shut up. There were evenings when he couldn’t take it any longer and he would bundle up Willa, wrestle her into that damn pram and then leave on a walk.

Mary never asked why he would leave suddenly with their daughter for two hours.

After going back to work John somehow found himself in charge of the night shift. He knew he should be irritated with Mary over it and part of him was. Yet he grew to adore those late nights where the nursery was lit by the night light in the corner and the only sound was of Willa sucking happily at her bottle. As he fed her he would press his face into her silky soft hair and simply breathe. After her bottle, she would lay in his arms and eye him speculatively in the dim light, it reminded him of how Sherlock looked at the world.  

When Willa was three months old John began to worry about Mary. There was a certain lack of emotion between Mary and Willa that was slowly becoming more evident as the baby grew. Mary wasn’t neglectful or even a bad parent as Willa was always content, clean and fed when he got home from the surgery. He noticed Willa never seemed to smile up at Mary whereas the moment her tiny blue eyes spotted John she would break into the widest gummy smile. Mary seemed almost apathetic towards the whole thing, towards them. She often left for ‘alone time’ as soon as John got home, never asked to come along with them on their walks and if John was home she never went out of her way to feed or cuddle the baby. John worried about postpartum depression.

A month later John learned there were far worse things.

Willa was four months and had figured out how to roll. Unfortunately, she had decided nighttime was the perfect time to practice this skill. Luckily for John he was off the day following the worst of the nights.

Willa was miserable even when fed and changed. Her cry was whiny and she clawed at her face with her hands leaving John to put socks over them so she didn’t cause any more scratches. By nine thirty in the morning John was very quickly approaching his wits end and had to do something. There was one sure method to lull his overtired daughter to sleep and it was also John’s preferred method of calming down. He’d only gotten three blocks from home when he was cut off by the ever-bored looking Anthea leaning against a car.

John hadn’t had any contact with Mycroft since Willa was a week old. Still for some reason he found himself climbing dutifully into the car, the petty part of him allowed Anthea to argue with the pram without any help.

The familiar scenery of the road to Mycroft’s office flashed by as John held Willa to his chest. She fell asleep within minutes.

John was still clutching her to him when he entered the office. Mycroft was seated behind his laptop.

“I know you are concerned about Mary’s behavior.” Mycroft began without any preamble.

John nodded, there was no point in asking how Mycroft knew. He hadn’t had any real delusions that Mycroft would actually back off when asked to, that just wasn’t in his nature.

“She is not depressed, John.” He said finally looking away from the computer.

John sighed. “You’ve become a psychiatrist then?”

Mycroft’s mouth pulled tight. “It’s far worse than depression.”

There was a sinking feeling in John’s stomach and he finally took a chair, careful not to jostle Willa. Mycroft silently pushed a stack of manila folders in front of John, eyes flickering down to Willa for a moment.

John rearranged Willa on his chest and reached out for the top file. Surveillance photos: all taken with a long-range lens, all of Mary. Mary leaving their house, Mary taking a cab to a nondescript apartment building in the middle of London, Mary through a window looking over papers, Mary looking determined as she walked through a crowded street with her head down.

“Are you stalking my wife?” John asked halfway through the file of photos.

“Keep looking.” Was all Mycroft said.

As John continued to flip through the photos it became clear Mary was up to something, something not good. The final photo was what stole his breath. Mary seated on the top of a building looking down a rifle scope pointed at the streets below.

“We believe she’s active again.” Mycroft spoke.

John huffed out a laugh. “Really? You think?”

Mycroft just looked at him.

If Willa hadn’t been laying quietly in his arms John would have punched something. Instead he reigned in his fury and simply crumpled the photo violently. “When did she start?”

“Your trip down memory lane.” Mycroft said simply.

On January 29th John had given into the desire to think about Sherlock. He and Willa had spent the day in London visiting all of his favorite cases. They’d ended the trip having evening tea with Mrs. Hudson at Baker Street.

“Has she killed anyone?” Was John’s next question as he tried to ignore the small flicker of guilt when he realized he’d given her the opportunity to start again.

Mycroft shook his head. “Not yet but we believe she has a target. She will undoubtedly be acting soon.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” John bellowed suddenly and Willa immediately tensed and began to whimper. John inhaled sharply trying to control himself. “No love not you, you’re fine.” He whispered trying to sooth her.

Mycroft allowed him a moment of comforting his daughter before finally speaking. “You will go home tonight-“

John cut him off. “I will not.”

“You will, John.” Mycroft snapped, this was enough to keep John from protesting again. “You will go home and tomorrow morning you will go to work.”

“I am not leaving Willa with her.” John objected instantly.

“John, you already worry about the lack of attachment she has. If you tip her off to any of this are you willing to take the chance she won’t harm the child?” Mycroft reasoned.

John hated him because he was right. There was no way he was willing to stake Willa’s life on an attachment that might not exist.

Mycroft must have seen his acceptance because he continued speaking. “When you get back from work you will take the child on a walk. Anthea will meet you along your way and take you two somewhere safe.”

John considered the plan quietly for a moment, he still desperately wanted to rage against the idea of leaving Willa with Mary but there was no better way. “You will watch very closely tomorrow and if she does anything and I mean _anything-_ ”  

“I will have agents through the door in under a minute. I assure you John, I will keep you safe. My brother would never forgive me if he went into exile for you just to have you die under my watch.” Mycroft told him.

John’s heart stuttered. “He’s alive?” His voice was suddenly rough with emotion.

Mycroft looked completely surprised at the question but comprehension drew across his face. “Yes, Sherlock is alive at this moment and currently defying all expectations of him.”

John smiled weakly at that. “Always does.”

“Indeed.”

‘Somewhere safe’ ended up being a cottage that butted up to the beach on the Isle of Wight. It had taken nearly six hours to drive there which John knew was far longer than it should have. The driver was obviously making every attempt to ensure their journey was untraceable. Willa had wailed for half of the drive, not a fan of the carseat that had been installed for her. When she finally fell asleep John allowed himself to lean against the window and doze.

Three days later Mycroft appeared. One look at his face told John something had gone wrong.

“Something tipped her off.” Mycroft said by way of greeting when he walked out into the back garden where John had set Willa up on a blanket in the grass.

John instantly put a hand on Willa’s leg. “What do you mean?”

“She left shortly after you, we assumed to continue her surveillance, we’d hope to catch her in the act but she disappeared.” He explained as he took a seat on one of the iron garden chairs.

John’s gaze darted into the house and he itched to pick up Willa and run inside with her.

“You are safe here.” Mycroft assured. “When we have captured her or confirmed she has fled the country you will be able to return to London.”

Willa was seven months old when one of Mycroft’s agents finally managed to snap a photo of Mary strolling through a South American market.

Willa crawled unsteadily around the floor of the cottage as John and Uncle Mycroft (John had mostly forgiven him and Mycroft had only argued over the moniker once) poured over the surveillance photos and planned the return to London.

Three weeks later John found himself standing inside the kitchen of 221B Baker Street while a team of workers carried boxes and furniture up the stairs.

John’s old room had been converted into a nursery with antique looking furniture that John was afraid to know the price of. There was a baby pink crown that had been painted over the lilac walls just above the crib and it amused John to no end. Mycroft had recently taken to calling Willa ‘Reinette’ so clearly the decoration had been done at his order.

Despite being assured that the return to London was safe there were new security measures put in place. Mrs. Hudson had agreed to bars being installed outside of the windows in the room and even then there had been a motion sensor alarm place on them. The baby monitor was probably a couple thousand pounds worth of government security tech that allowed John to pull up the feed through an encrypted channel on his laptop and mobile.

Willa loved Baker street.

She continued to grow much to John’s dismay and by Christmas she was seriously considering taking her first steps. As she grew so did her family. Mrs. Hudson had become Nana, Greg Lestrade became another uncle (and with him she gained two cousins), and by the second time Molly babysat she had become an Aunt.

For Willa’s first Christmas John had not planned on playing around with Father Christmas. She wouldn’t remember and frankly he’d gotten her a large amount of gifts on his own. But on Christmas morning he’d walked out of the bedroom (once Sherlock’s, now his) and was greeted by the site of a pile presents stacked under the tree and a text.

_Happy Christmas. -MH_

Only two of the presents were actually labeled as being from Mycroft, the others were wrapped in different paper and had no sender. It was obviously Mycroft’s attempt at playing Father Christmas for Willa. She had not surprisingly been more interested in rolling in the wrapping paper than in the frankly terrifying number of presents. Still when Mycroft arrived in the late afternoon she crawled over to him as he sat on the sofa and held out her arms to be picked up. Mycroft lifted her, still slightly uncomfortable with holding a child but getting better at it.

John had assumed that because everyone seemed to have purchased every toy under the sun for Christmas that Willa’s birthday would be a more sedate affair.

He was wrong.

Willa ended the day covered head to toe in pink frosting and with half a toy store spread out on the living room floor. Greg’s daughter, Addison, was laying on the floor next to her trying to entertain Willa with one of the new gifts but all she wanted to do was chew on the wrapping.

Everyone had a bottle of beer in hand, including Mycroft and Molly, and were talking about everything and anything when Mrs. Hudson reappeared holding a beautifully wrapped box with a silver and pink bow on top.

“Not another gift Mrs. Hudson!” John groaned as he watched her come into the room.

“Not from me dear, found this on the chair downstairs. Someone must have set it down and forgot it.”

No one claimed it and John finally asked. “Who is it from then?”

“Here give me a moment there’s a card.” Mrs. Hudson said flipping over a tag attached to the bow. “Says ‘Happy birthday, Princess. Love Agra.’”

Mycroft and Greg moved at the same time, reaching out to take the present from Mrs. Hudson. John would wonder later that night how much Greg knew about the situation. John had never really told him much but still he seemed to have most of the story.

Greg got to the gift first and carefully carried it back down the stairs while Mycroft followed with his phone, which had appeared for the first time since he’d gotten to Baker Street, to his ear nearly shouting at whoever was on the other end. 

Every test on Earth was run on the present before it was opened and more were invented to be run on the contents. In the end it was nothing more than an innocuous porcelain doll. It was gorgeous and clearly had cost a considerable amount of money.

John smashed it to pieces with a hammer and then proceeded to lock himself and Willa in Baker Street for weeks.

Willa grew and grew and as she grew John missed Sherlock even more. Mycroft had promised once that he would never let John remain in the dark if Sherlock died, that he would know as soon as Mycroft did. So every month that passed John had to live content with the knowledge that Sherlock was alive somewhere that wasn’t here.

When Willa began speaking beyond ‘Dada’ and ‘milk’ John often wondered what highly inappropriate words Sherlock would try to teach her. Which was how John found himself with an eighteen-month-old who knew the word ‘Detective.’

When Willa was three John had decided he was done living solely off the money that magically appeared in his bank account each month and went back to work three days a week at a surgery. Willa was in nursery school for a week when she came home with the word ‘why’ blazing around in full force.

It had been cute for three days.

Then John wanted to scream every time an explanation was followed by ‘why’. He finally did snap, raising his voice with her for the first time. Her face had screwed up in horror at his sharp tone before she threw herself on the sofa crying. He’d felt so guilty they’d ended up eating Chinese, her favorite take away, for dinner.

He wasn’t surprised when Mycroft appeared as John came down the stairs after putting Willa to bed.

“I scolded her Mycroft, I didn’t hit her.” John said wearily as he dropped into his seat. He wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t disappear if he did ever strike her.

“Sherlock was a late speaker, thank heavens,” Mycroft began after taking a sip of the bourbon he had poured himself. “So he was five when he entered into the ‘why’ stage of life. I was twelve and after a few days I _did_ hit him. I don’t think he knew another person could cause you pain like that because he seemed more shocked at the concept of someone hurting him intentionally than he was at the fact I had. I was twelve though and knew I was smarter than most adults, it didn’t sit well with me that I had a seemingly clueless younger brother. Mummy was furious when she learned. Told me I had to spend an entire weekend doing everything with Sherlock and patiently answering every question that left his mouth. If I didn’t I would lose certain privileges I’d grown fond of.”

“No dessert for a week then?” John teased.

Mycroft sighed heavily and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. “I nearly strangled him during the first six hours. Then at one point he asked me ‘why’ I was so angry with him. So I of course yelled ‘Why do you think, Sherlock?’ and much to my surprise he answered and was very correct. He knew more than he let on but he wanted someone to confirm he was right. After that it became almost a game. When Sherlock said ‘why’ I asked ‘why do you think?’ When he was correct I praised him, when he was wrong I corrected him, and when he honestly didn’t know I taught him. After only a few weeks he became confident in his own mind and stop asking ‘why’ so much.”

John considered the fire for a moment. “She’s not Sherlock though.”

“No but Reinette is brighter than even you know, all children are. It’s when we teach them that they don’t know anything that they truly don’t.” Mycroft answered.

John found himself attempting Mycroft’s pseudo parenting technique the following morning. He quickly learned that the older man had indeed been correct. Willa might not have been Sherlock but she was exceptionally clever and John felt he wasn’t even being particularly biased in that opinion.

As if to prove to John just how clever she was Willa began reading a few weeks after her fourth birthday. John had not been in the slightest bit prepared for this, after all he’d been seven by the time he realized it might do him well to figure reading out. After a brief meltdown which had lead to him calling Greg before seven a.m. John learned a few things.

The first being that Mycroft had zero issue answering Greg’s phone and seemed to enjoy John’s brief discomfort when he realized who had answered. The second was that Mary had been exceptionally intelligent, even Sherlock had noted that, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise that Willa was going that way as well. The third was perhaps the most surprising: the source of the mysteriously appearing money.

Mycroft suggested a private tutor once John had refused to pull Willa from her current class. When John had protested about funds Mycroft reminded him of the magically appearing money.

“John you’ve been moving the money from Sherlock’s trust into a savings account for the past year.” Mycroft said easily as if this weren’t an entirely new revelation.

John had paused in the middle of the street, he’d never actually asked where the money he was receiving was from. “That’s Sherlock’s money?”

“Did you not know?” Mycroft asked mildly.

“No. Why am I getting Sherlock’s trust fund allowance?”

“My brother has no access to any of his accounts currently. Two days before he left he gave the instruction that ‘The Watsons’ receive his monthly allowance instead of it sitting in an account he couldn’t touch. I assumed since you didn’t ask that you knew.”

John had shaken his head before realizing that Mycroft couldn’t see him, well probably couldn’t. “No. I didn’t want to put Willa in care after Mary so I just figured it would be best if I didn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Jesus Mycroft that’s more than I’d make full time at the surgery. Why the hell did he need a flat mate?”

Mycroft laughed, not just a chuckle but a full laugh. “John that is half of his monthly allowance. I thought you’d be uncomfortable with the full amount. Half to you, a quarter in a savings account for Willa for university and the other quarter goes into an… offshore account.”

John sucked in a breath, he knew the ‘offshore account’ was no doubt accessible by Sherlock wherever he was. This was the first time Mycroft even came close to admitting he was still looking after his younger brother. “Yes, yes. Fine. I get it we’ll look into a tutor.”

Her tutor started two weeks later.

Willa was the flower girl at two weddings during the spring and summer she was four. Molly married a fantastically boring forensic accountant who looked nothing like Sherlock in April. The wedding was very traditional and Willa, who had never stepped foot in a church before, spent the entire ceremony trying to look at all the art and sculptures in the chapel.

In August Gregory Lestrade and Mycroft Holmes married in the back gardens of Mycroft’s large home. John hadn’t even been aware they were engaged when Mycroft asked him to stand with him at the altar. Willa was unaware her dress probably cost more than all of her other clothes combined and that during the reception she was running about with the children of some of the most influential people in the world.

When the photographer called for a family only photo John had swooped in to retrieve his daughter from where she was playing with Addison. He’d gotten halfway to the dessert table, fully intending to bribe her into behaving with sweets, when Mycroft called out to him.

“John,” Mycroft said “Family. Is she not my niece?”

John paused and then nodded as he was once again reminded of everyone who loved Willa. After gently pushing her towards them he turned back to the desserts.

Mycroft called over again this time sounding exasperated. “If she is my niece, would that not make you my brother?”

Which was exactly how John ended up in the ‘just the family’ photo wearing a particularly misty eyed expression. Greg teased him over it for months.

The last of the snow had finally melted in London when Mycroft took a trip to Russia. John had only realized the trip was happening because Greg came over more often when Mycroft left, still uncomfortable alone in the sprawling house.

The day Mycroft returned he appeared at Baker Street, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

John’s heart sputtered uncomfortably. “Is he dead?”

“No. He is alive.” Mycroft said softly.

“But you’ve seen him then?” John asked, one hand on top of Willa’s head as she sat at the kitchen table playing with the matryoshka dolls Mycroft had brought back for her.

Mycroft nodded. “I do not come here to get your hopes up, John. But an offer has been made to Sherlock. One more mission and he will be pardoned and allowed to return home.”

John’s knees gave out and he sank into a chair, one hand still clutching Willa. “Did he accept?”

“I will not know for another week if he did or not.” Mycroft admitted looking weary. “But this will be more dangerous than the others. Even if he accepts he may not come home alive.”

Two weeks later a text arrived at 3:15am.

_Accepted -MH_

John felt like he was living on the edge of a razor for the next few weeks until he realized it could be months or years to complete an MI6 mission. So he began to occupy himself with more urgent matters, like the fact that Willa was due to start primary school in the fall and he’d been avoiding thinking about it.

Mycroft had insisted on looking at several schools instead of just sending her to the local school, citing her above average intelligence as a factor. So John spent weeks touring different schools until he finally found one that was the right mix of advanced lessons and play. He put in their application on a Tuesday and on Friday afternoon John was informed of her place.

Mrs. Hudson, unable to attend the first day due to her hip surgery, had plaited Willa’s hair and insisted on dozens of photos before she let them out of the house. John wasn’t exactly surprised when he opened the front door to find a black limousine parked out front.

“A bit much?” He asked sliding himself and Willa in anyway.

Greg grinned at him, Anthea didn’t bother looking up from her mobile, and Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Just for today, it would have been… uncomfortable in a normal car.”

Molly texted three times during the ride to the school asking how John was holding up.

As they pulled up John noticed there was new construction beginning on the one side of the school.

“Oh what’s that then?” John asked not actually expecting anyone to have the answer.

Mycroft answered anyway. “I believe they found their musical instruction space lacking.”

John raised an eyebrow. His singular complaint during the tour of the school had been that in the expansion of the art rooms the music rooms had been marginalized. He had thought Sherlock would have been displeased with the idea of Willa attending somewhere without a decent music program.

Anthea looked up from her phone and sighed. “You are aware you applied for a spot nearly six months after everyone else had, right?”

John just looked out at the cost of his daughter’s admission and didn’t say a word.

Willa suffered well through John clinging a bit too tightly as they walked up to the school. It was only outside her classroom that John notice even Anthea had followed them in. Greg gave her a simple hug and wished her good luck while Mycroft rested a hand on her shoulder and reminded her to be good. Anthea actually knelt down to Willa’s level, pulled her into a hug and whispered something in her ear. Willa grinned and nodded.

John did not cry. His eyes might have burned and he may have been rapidly blinking but he did not cry as he hugged his daughter and sent her off into her classroom.

During the walk back to the car John glanced over at Anthea who was back on her mobile, typing furiously.  “What did you say to her back there?”

Anthea glanced up and smirked. “Just reminding her who rules the world.”

The rest of the autumn passed quickly and almost normally. Willa hated homework with a passion but her marks were all above average, she made friends and got in petty feuds, and there was an entire month where she didn’t go a day without some sort of cold symptom.

As the holidays approached John felt the familiar itching return to his veins. If it wasn’t for Willa’s absolute joy over the season he wouldn’t have celebrated them at all. Too many things had happened during this season for him to enjoy them much.

Mary sent presents between Christmas and Willa’s birthday every year and despite Mycroft’s best attempts they never learned how she did it. Extravagant dolls, an actual china tea set, and jewelry. All lovely but not things Willa cared about which assured both Mycroft and John that she didn’t have any real knowledge of her daughter. Every year as he ritually destroyed the objects John wondered if these were guilt trinkets. He wondered if Mary felt remorse for what she had done, for choosing her career over their daughter. It didn’t matter in the end because she would never get near Willa if John had any say in the matter.

December first came in and blanketed London with a dusting of snow. Willa squirmed and wiggled all throughout breakfast dying to get outside. John didn’t have the heart to tell her there wasn’t enough to properly play in. So he dutifully buttoned her up in her winter jacket, wrestled her into gloves, tried to stuff her hair under a hat and took her outside.

Willa was content to push around the 2 centimeters of snow with her little shovel while John sat in the doorway nursing a cup of tea and a novel. Mrs. Hudson, who was recovering splendidly from her surgery, joined him every now and then to chat.

During one such conversation Willa dashed between them and up the stairs, not heeding John’s calls to take off her boots. He shook his head and assumed she’d just realized she needed the toilet. When she returned though she had in her hands five bowls, his metal measuring cups, craft sticks and the box of food dyes.

“What on earth are you doing?” He asked as she wrestled her prizes between them and out the door.

“An experiment.” Willa answered in that voice that implied any of her words might have been ‘duh’.

A wave of melancholy washed over John. “Oh yeah?”

Willa nodded solemnly as she went about setting up her equipment. “Mr. West says it’s important to experiment with things because otherwise we won’t learn how it all works.”

Mrs. Hudson squeezed his shoulder knowingly before disappearing back inside.

John hadn’t the foggiest idea of what Willa was up to but he watched her anyway. An hour later her gloves and hat were lying by his feet and she kneeled on the pavement in front of the steps. Her tongue was poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration while she went about whatever it was she was doing. There was yellow stain on her cheek and a streak of green dye in her strawberry blond hair but John couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess.

Twenty minutes later as John contemplated another cup of tea a black car slowed to a stop in front of them. It was only because he recognized the driver as one of Mycroft’s that he didn’t immediately scoop Willa up and run inside with her.

Mycroft stepped out onto the side walk and John was about to great him but the look on the older man’s face gave him pause.

A tall, thin man unfolded himself behind Mycroft and John’s breath caught in his throat.  

~~~~~~

Six years.

Sherlock had not stepped foot on British soil in nearly six years.

The ‘suicide mission’ MI6 had handed him had taken a mere five months to complete and hadn’t been as lethal as they’d hoped. Yes, he had been shot again but further quick thinking had saved his life. No one visited him in the hospital and because of this no one cared when he walked out of the Bucharest hospital a week later against medical advice.

He hadn’t been about to sit on his hands and wait for MI6 to call him into action again. Moriarty’s networks had been regaining strength while he’d been in London planning a wedding. They weren’t as connected nor anywhere near as clever but it gave him something to do. Sometimes he stumbled upon a gang or outfit that had zero ties to Moriarty but he brought them down anyway.

He often wondered if John would see the news and know it was him.

The British government called on him frequently, yanking his leash to make him heel like a good dog. He went because he had no choice. Every mission seemed to carry more certainty that he would die and yet he survived.

He’d considered returning once. Stood on a beach in East London, South Africa (hateful place, didn’t even deserve the title of _East_ London) and plotted exactly how he’d sneak past his brother and back home. He hadn’t seen London for two years at that point and this imposter weighed heavily on his mind.

He’d gotten spectacularly and wonderfully high the next day, and the day after that, and for the four months following.

Within weeks his money ran dry. Mycroft had clearly gotten word he was using again and stopped the steady trickle of funds he’d been providing.

It had taken a year of sobriety before Mycroft caved and began placing money in the account again. By that point it didn’t matter much, Sherlock had found his own means. It was easy to take money from the organizations he brought down. By the time they realized he was embezzling, if they ever did, he was usually ready to destroy them.

Month after month he kept moving forward with single minded determination. It was horrible. Nothing was ever new or exciting.

Locate a branch. Watch them. Infiltrate. Move up the ranks. Steal their money. Cut them down.

Over and over until he wanted to scream from the sheer monotony of it.

It was in Kazan, Russia that Sherlock saw Mycroft for the first time in five years. Mycroft was in the country smoothing ruffled feathers and Sherlock was slowly eviscerating a group of weapons smugglers.

When Sherlock caught wind that his brother was in country he sent a message his way. Their paths had never crossed this closely in five years, Sherlock guessed that was the governments doing, and while Mycroft was not his first choice he was someone from his past.

Much to his surprised Mycroft accepted the meeting.

A file sat innocuously between them on a bench in Victory Park.

Sherlock’s fingers itched to reach out and take it. To open it and read over everything John had been doing for the past five years. But he couldn’t. He hadn’t let himself think of John since his drugs binge, hadn’t even the guts to say the name out loud which made things difficult given the popularity of it.

Sherlock had met sixty-four men named ‘John’ since starting his exile, he called every one by their surname.

Mycroft had shifted uncomfortably while talking of the dullest things, like there was something he truly wanted to say. For once Sherlock didn’t pick at it until he gave in. He was too busy trying to catalog the changes that had occurred in his brother.

He’d been surprised when Mycroft had looked older. The feeling didn’t make sense since fundamentally Sherlock understood that was how life worked. There were new lines around his eyes, laugh lines like somehow he’d been smiling more in the last five years. The indent on his left ring finger spoke volumes as to why.

His brother had found himself a goldfish.

He had been wearing his ring for most of the trip which ruled out removing the ring to be unfaithful. So he had removed it either to spare himself the questions about it or because he was worried about Sherlock’s reactions. No doubt it was being kept on person so he could slip it back on the second he was out of Sherlocks sight.

“One more mission, Sherlock, and they’ll be amenable to letting you home.” Mycroft had said as he stood to leave, leaning on his new umbrella. This one was inexplicably red, a gift from his spouse no doubt.

Five hours later there was a needle in his veins but he couldn’t press the plunger. Damn his brother and damn the hope he’d given him. The drugs never made it into his veins that night and the following week he was on a plane bound for Brazil.

Now eight months later and he was finally free.

Well, as free as he could get while stuffed in the back of one of Mycroft’s cars. They were leaving Heathrow and heading towards London. _Towards London_.

Sherlock wanted to climb into the front seat and press his face to the window, to take in the familiar sites and catalogue the changes. He refrained. Mycroft was watching him after all. As the city began to rise up around them he became nervous, all these years of wanting home and suddenly here he was. He needed to do something.

“Alright who is it?” He asked not turning his head from the window.

From the corner of his eye he saw Mycroft look up from his phone. “I’m not sure what you mean, brother dear.”

Sherlock sighed, loudly and turned. “Don’t play coy, Mycroft, that is the last thing you should ever do. I can see the indents in your fingers, they were there when we met in Russia. You’ve removed a wedding ring.”

Mycroft looked down at his fingers and considered them for a moment. “I did not wish to… _alarm_ you with all of the change at once.”

“No,” Sherlock huffed turning back to the window. “What alarms me is someone would actually marry you.”

Mycroft didn’t even bother responding, simply returned his attentions to his phone.

Unacceptable.

Sherlock watched the buildings silently for a few more minutes before it struck him they weren’t going the right way. “Where are we going?”

“The St. Pancras Hotel.”

“What? No!” Sherlock shouted reaching over to take Mycroft’s phone from his hands. “Baker Street, now.”

Mycroft pulled the phone out of Sherlock’s reach and sighed. “Six years is a long time, Sherlock.”

Sherlock felt as if he’d been punched. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of Baker Street or Mrs. Hudson in so long. How had they changed? Had she let out the flat again? Who was living there now? Did she still own the building? Was she even still in London? Or had she finally given into her sister’s pleas to move with her out of the city. Was she alright? How was her hip? How was her heart? Had she gotten ill? Was she even-

“Breathe, Sherlock.” Mycroft said tersely. Sherlock hadn’t even been aware he was hyperventilating until he drew attention to it. “Mrs. Hudson still owns the building, she had hip replacement surgery over the summer and the doctors are impressed with her recovery.”

Sherlock’s breathing returned to normal. “But she’s let out the flat.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes towards the roof of the car. “Of course she has, she relies on that money.”

“You could have paid her to keep it open!” Sherlock sneered. “Unless of course you never planned for me to come home.”

It was a low blow from the way Mycroft’s mouth pinched minutely. “Paid? To keep a flat empty? Hardly a good allocation of funds. Besides John asked and I couldn’t exactly say no.”

John.

John.

John was on Baker Street.

John _was on Baker Street._

John.

Sherlock was so elated he felt his heart begin to pound again. All was well. John was on Baker Street.

And then ice flowed through his veins. Not just John but John and Mary. They were together on Baker street. It was wrong. It was beyond wrong, it was repulsive in a way Sherlock couldn’t even begin to explain. Did she sit in his chair? They had probably taken his room, it was bigger after all. She was touching John in his bedroom. They were fucking in his bedroom.

Wrong.

_Wrong._

_WRONG._

“Sherlock if you insist on continuing to do that I’m taking you to a hospital instead.” Mycroft intoned tiredly.

Continuing what? Oh right, he was hyperventilating again.

He turned to his brother and pleaded with him not to make him ask the questions. Not to make him say it out loud.

Mycroft sighed but the skin around his eyes softened. “The marriage was annulled seven months after you left. Mary is in the wind, not even I can find her. John had asked if he and the child could move back to Baker Street once the marriage dissolved. A request I could hardly deny him.”

The child. He hadn’t forgotten about the baby but he’d left those thoughts behind the locked door of John’s wing. “So you _were_ paying to keep a flat empty.” Sherlock smirked, focusing on another matter entirely.

Mycroft scowled.

“Baker Street.” Sherlock repeated crossing his arms over his chest.

Mycroft relented and not much later they were pulling onto the street.

Sherlock found he didn’t have to wait long to catch his first glimpse of John in almost six years. He was seated in the doorway of 221, leaning against the door frame as he watched something on the sidewalk. Not something, _someone_. The girl. She was kneeling in the melting snow not far from John in a shockingly pink parka, not paying mind to anything going on around her.

John, like Mycroft, had aged. His hair was almost completely grey but it suited him and didn’t age him unnecessarily unlike the mustache from last time. Sherlock’s fingers twitched with the desire to run through it. John’s face looked very much the same, a few more lines sprinkled here and there but at this moment it was mostly smooth. He was watching the girl with so much adoration in his eyes that anyone would have noticed.

As the car slowed John’s head snapped up and his arm made an aborted move towards his back. He relaxed after making eye contact with the driver. He was still used to Mycroft’s employees.

Sherlock’s lungs fluttered and he fought to keep himself from hyperventilating again. Mycroft was climbing out of the car, leaving room for Sherlock to follow. Once his legs remembered how to work he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reinette- French for little queen
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter One

John stared. For the moment the need to breathe was forgotten and he just looked. If it wasn’t for the fact that Mycroft wouldn’t move out of the way, John would have believed he’d finally snapped.

He’d dreamt about Sherlock returning again. Sometimes it would be in the same ridiculous fashion he had done when returning from the dead. Other dreams John would meet him on the tarmac and Sherlock would step off the plane and walk over to John with that self-assured smirk because he’d always known John would still be there for him.

There was a third kind of dream. One where John would walk out of his bedroom to find Sherlock sitting in his chair, hands beneath his chin, and he would just look up and complain about the lack of cases as if nothing had ever happened. These were the dreams that concerned him the most because John never put up a fuss and just let Sherlock back into his life like he’d never left.

It wasn’t that he would argue Sherlock’s reappearance this time or begrudge him his absence, no he would certainly welcome his friend back with open arms. But there would have to be changes. The biggest of which was Willa. She was John’s life now, everything he did revolved around her. Her existence would completely alter his and Sherlock’s relationship in a way even Mary hadn’t succeeded in doing.

That was a bridge they would have to cross in the future but now, right now, Sherlock was standing on Baker Street.

He looked tired, or rather downright exhausted as if he hadn’t slept properly in months (or years). His black hair was longer than John had ever seen it and the curls were squashed on one side and unruly on the other. The lack of product or styling was alarming but John realized Sherlock probably hadn’t had time for his grooming routine wherever he’d been. There wasn’t a lick of grey embedded in the ebony locks and John subconsciously ran a hand through his own hair, not missing how Sherlock’s eyes flickered up to it.

His face was very much the same and an irrational part of John wanted to smack him. Of course Sherlock would be the type of person to age gracefully and without wrinkles or grey hair. There was a scar through the edge of his right eyebrow, it was old and hadn’t been sutured well when the injury had occurred. His cheekbones were more prominent than they had been and John, for the first time, agreed with The Woman. You could injure yourself on those cheeks as they were now.

Today it his eyes were ice blue and that seemed fitting for the weather.

Those eyes were sweeping over John, deducing things no doubt. John had never really felt uncomfortable under the calculating gaze as many people did and he wasn’t surprised to find he still didn’t mind. The look though encouraged him to climb to his feet in the doorway and without thinking he stood at attention. Sherlock’s lips twitched like he wanted to smile.

Mycroft broke the heavy silence first. “As you can see, all went well.”

Willa was next. Upon hearing Mycroft’s voice she jumped up from where she was playing and dove for him, wrapping her arms around his legs. “Uncle Mycroft!” She squealed. “Have you brought me a present?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to Willa.

“Willa Louise!” John scolded, his need to parent outweighing his desire to stare at Sherlock longer. “Manners.”

Willa huffed and pulled back to stand properly. “Hello Uncle Mycroft, how are you?” She asked in a dull tone.

Mycroft patted Willa’s head. “I’m good, my dear. How are you?”

John couldn’t see Willa’s face but he would bet a tenner that she rolled her eyes. “I’m well. Have you brought me a present?”

John groaned and was about to scold her once again but Mycroft spoke over him. “As a matter of fact I have. I’ve also brought your father a… gift. Shall we go upstairs and I’ll show you yours?”

Willa chewed on her lip and glanced between Mycroft and her things on the ground. Obviously torn between the prospect of a present and continuing her experiment. “Alright.” She said eventually and held out her hand for Mycroft to take.

Mycroft did not flinch even the slightest as he took her tie-dyed hand in his and allowed himself to be lead into Baker Street.

Sherlock’s eyes followed them up the stairs and when they’d turned the landing they drifted back to John. A weight settled in the air and it made John nervous. He stepped down and began attempting to clear up the mess Willa had made.

“Er. Watch your step, there’s probably most of a box of food dye on the ground.” John said and silently cursed how nervous he sounded.

Sherlock watched him for a moment. “John.”

John paused, half stooped over, trying to dump out a bowl of colored snow. “Yes?”

“John.” Sherlock repeated.

John left the bowl on ground and stood finally. “Sherlock?”

“Hello John.” Sherlock said. Anyone else might not have notice the way Sherlock’s voice broke just slightly on his name but John did.

John’s heart hurt at the sound. “Oh god. Hello you daft sod.” He choked out and grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat, pulling him down to his level for a fierce hug.

Sherlock’s back tensed in surprise for just a moment beneath John’s hands before he melted into the embrace. His own arms came up to wrap around John and he rested his forehead against his shoulder.

They stood like that for a while and the few people out on the snowy Sunday morning shot them odd looks. John ignored them. He breathed in Sherlock, pleased that he smelled nearly the same still.

Sherlock was the one to pull back although he seemed reluctant about it, one hand was gripping John’s coat at his side. “Not going to hit me this time?” He tried to joke but his voice was terribly unsteady.

John huffed out a laugh. “Not this time.” He couldn’t resist wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck and dragging him down for yet another hug.

Sherlock’s chuckle was muffled by John’s coat. “You seem to be doing this a lot now.”

John remembered himself and let Sherlock go. “Yeah well, getting soppy in my old age I guess.” He said with a sheepish smile.

He was finding it remarkably hard to keep his hands to himself. They’d always communicated on the rather physical side in the past but smothering your best friend in a hug every two minutes was probably not okay.

“You always were.” Sherlock teased his voice regaining composure. He stuffed his hands in his coat and looked up at the building for a second. “So you’re back on Baker Street?”

John glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah. I guess over five years now.”

He looked back to Sherlock suddenly. “God I’m an idiot. It’s freezing out here. You’re freezing. Inside, if we’re lucky Mycroft has started tea.”

John took the opportunity to grab Sherlock’s arm and lead him to the doorway. He paused and glanced back at Willa’s mess with a sigh. “You go on up I’ve got to clean this up.”

When John got back inside he found Sherlock lingering at the stairs. He had one foot up on the bottom step, hand on the railing like he’d planned on going up but just froze. His eyes were focused on the wall at the top of the stairs but John still remembered that face enough to know he was about to lose Sherlock to his thoughts.

“Sherlock?” He asked reaching out and touching the taller man’s arm, once again unable to keep to himself.

This was enough to snap Sherlock out of wherever he was going. He gave John a small smile. “Sorry.”

John shook his head. “No, no you’re fine.” He insisted and finally dropped his hand.

He brushed past Sherlock and began climbing the stairs. He let out a small sigh of relief when he heard him following.

Just as John expected Mycroft was in the small kitchen fussing with the kettle. Willa was leaning over the table with a picture book open in front of her. John was momentarily confused when he saw the book. Mycroft knew better than anyone that Willa was into chapter books now and was currently going through the Chronicles of Narnia at a dizzying speed.

He leaned over her to look at the book and understood. “Le Vilain Caneton” the cover boasted at him.

“French?” He asked and flipped open the book to thumb through the pages.

Willa grinned. “Uncle Mycroft is going to teach me French!”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, Reinette, I said I would hire someone to teach you French. You should have learned a second language years ago.”

John rolled his eyes, pursing his lips together, and didn’t bother answering. It was an old argument. He turned instead to find Sherlock.

He was standing in the living room watching them in the kitchen with a particularly guarded expression. John smiled at him and waved a hand to beckon him in.

“Willa there’s someone I would like you to meet.” John said decidedly.

Willa tore her attention from the book and looked past John at Sherlock. She climbed off her chair and stood next to John. John nudged her shoulder forward. “Introduce yourself, love.”

~~~~~~

Sherlock was overwhelmed being back inside their flat and his mind was racing trying to take in everything at once. So when John urged his daughter to introduce herself Sherlock was thankful for the distraction. She gave him one point to focus on and that focus calmed his racing mind.

She was small. Granted Sherlock didn’t have a great reference of what was considered normal for a nearly six-year-old child, he’d never needed to know, but she seemed smaller than most children he’d seen.

The girl was hesitant to leave her father but she stepped forward anyway. Obviously still shy of adults she didn’t know and looked to John to assure her she was okay. Despite her initial hesitation as soon as John gave her more encouragement she dutifully walked over to Sherlock, obviously John’s bravery had been inherited.

Mycroft was watching from the corner of the kitchen apparently very interested in learning how Willa and Sherlock got on. The girl might have been hesitant with Sherlock but she had been extremely comfortable with Mycroft when they’d arrived and had no problem demonstrating affection with him. Mycroft obviously involved himself regularly in their lives, something John didn’t seem to mind much if the conversation about learning French was indicative of their relationship now.

Sherlock watched her closely as she walked to stand directly in front of him. She jutted out her chin and extended a brightly colored hand towards him. “Hello, I’m Willa.”

John had named his daughter after him. There was zero chance it was just a coincidence. John was very much the type of person to spend hours looking up the meaning of names before assigning one to his child. So the idea John had chosen ‘Willa’ out of the millions of names put Sherlock right back on the edge of hyperventilating. He’d joked that John should name the child after him but he’d never imagined he would.

Willa was looking up at him anxiously.

“I’m Sherlock.” He said and shook her small hand briefly.

Her eyes lit up and her lips formed a perfect ‘O’. “From Daddy’s stories?” She asked excitedly.

John chuckled. “The very one.”

Willa was so excited she bounced on her toes. “Daddy lets me read some of the stories on his blog! They’re all about you, you know? And how you’re a brilliant detective. Sometimes if I’m very good he tells me secret stories that he says he can’t put on the internet.”

Sherlock looked at John and rolled his eyes. “You actually let her look at that thing?”

John shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest the way he always used to when someone, mainly Sherlock, would insult his blog. “She likes them.”

Willa nodded. “Uncle Mycroft says they’re drivel.” She stumbled over the final word for a moment as if trying to recall exactly what had been said to her.

“Do you agree?” Sherlock asked Willa as he eyed his brother over her shoulder. Mycroft was smirking behind a cup of tea.

 She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “No, daddy tells the best stories.”

She looked so much like John with her arms crossed and her chin stuck out in defiance. It was impossible for Sherlock to suppress the rush of emotion he felt towards this tiny girl. It was irrational. He’d barely met her and for all he knew she was a terrible brat. But that simply wasn’t an option, there was no way John would raise one of those common terrors. She was a part of John and she was being raised by him so there was no doubt in his mind that she would be just as extraordinary as her father.

Sherlock realized Willa was looking up at him expectantly. “Sometimes.” He agreed. It seemed to be the right thing to say because her arms dropped and she was all smiles again.

He spent the rest of the evening observing, barely noticing when Mycroft left just before dinner.

During dinner (a reheated casserole) Willa and John talked easily to one another. John occasionally scolded her for talking with her mouth full or for wandering away from the table mid-meal but during other conversations he never once spoke down to her. They both sporadically asked Sherlock for an opinion on whatever subject they were discussing but they never pushed him to talk. Willa easily followed her father’s example and was never pushy or intrusive with her questions.

When John disappeared with her up the stairs at nine Sherlock took the opportunity to examine the flat.

The sofa had been replaced with a larger cloth one and the chair that had been next to it had been exchanged for a wooden rocker. The coffee table had completely disappeared and the rug on the floor was new. There was a proper desk that fit too perfectly between the windows to have been anything but custom built, it was definitely something of Mycroft’s doing though because John would never have splurged for custom furniture.

Sherlock’s chair was in the exact same spot it always had been and that left him feeling a bit dizzy when he looked at it. There were so many implications about the unchanged nature of it. Even John’s chair had been replaced with something newer.

The kitchen had changed the most. The walls were a pale yellow now and the table was new with four matching chairs sat around it, the two nearest the sitting room were the most used. This was where Willa and John sat during dinner. Under the table rested a tiny purple trainer.

There were signs of the girl everywhere in the flat.

Two colorful drawings on the refrigerator, a stack of primary colored plastic cups sat in the sink waiting to be washed and there were black pen marks climbing a door frame. Three small jackets of varying weights hung on the coat tree with John’s. An orange stuffed cat was half pushed down into the back of the sofa and several small toys had disappeared beneath it. A bin of Legos sat on one of the lower book shelves along with dozens of children’s books.

There was a line of dirt going up the stairs where Willa had presumably rested her hand as she ran up and down the stairs day after day.

Sherlock was examining a photo of Willa on the mantel when John reappeared. Sherlock made no acknowledgement of him and he could feel John’s eyes on him.

“Her hair is red.” He commented and he replaced the photo, turning to look at John.

The other man chuckled. “Yes. I spent three weeks after her birth convinced it was only stained red.”

Sherlock snorted because that was exactly something John would do. He was about to say as such when another photo caught his eye.

This one was sitting on the book shelf in a lovely silver frame. Mycroft, Lestrade, John, Willa and two other children were the subjects of the photograph. Everyone was dressed up including the children, all of the men had matching boutonnieres made up of red lily’s pinned to their jackets.

“Oh no.” Sherlock groaned as he realized the implications.

John had walked to his side by this point and took the photo from Sherlock with a smile. “I’m guessing he hasn’t told you?”

“I knew he was married, the imbecile only took off the ring right before we met, but I was not aware of this.” Sherlock gestured to the photo.

John laughed and replaced the photo on the shelf. “They’re surprisingly good for each other. It was weird as hell at first but it’s good.”

Sherlock turned and dropped into his chair just watching John who stood there, hands in his pockets, looking at the photo. He seemed unsure of himself now that they were left alone without Willa acting as a buffer.

“You can ask you know.” Sherlock said softly, realizing what John was thinking.

John inhaled sharply. “I really can’t. Not right now.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

John moved and sat in his own chair. “Because whatever you’ve been through it’s been a lot. You’ve not even been in London twelve hours, now is not the time to dredge everything up.”

“I don’t need to be coddled, John.” Sherlock snapped. “I think I know my mental status.”

John looked at him properly for the first time since reentering the room. “Maybe I’m not ready. We all need to adjust to you coming back. I may not be angry like last time but this is still something I’m not used to yet.”

Sherlock nodded and turned to look into the small fire John had built earlier in the evening.

It was several minutes before John spoke again. “Do you have a place to stay? I mean I’ve taken your old room but-”

“Mycroft has booked me a room in the Saint Pancras.” Sherlock interrupted, effectively cutting off whatever rambling statement John was going to make.

John nodded firmly. “Right, good then.”

They spent the rest of the evening in near silence. John seemed comfortable enough with it and had reverted to what must have been his evening routine only deviating to force another cup of tea on Sherlock. Sherlock however spent the evening calculating every last change that had taken place in the flat and with John. There were so many that at times it seemed too overwhelming but then John would do something so typical of the way he had been all those years ago and it would sooth over the panic that welled up in Sherlock’s chest.

It was only eleven when John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, shifting his weight between feet. “I have work in the morning.” He explained. “I’m not kicking you out Sherlock but I need to get to bed.”

Sherlock tore his eyes from memorizing all the books on the shelf. He nodded.

“Right, well night then.” John said but he didn’t turn to go to his room.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Good night, John.”

John continued to hesitate. “Sherlock I know we’ve taken over the whole flat but this is still your home. You’re always welcome here whenever, at two in the afternoon or two in the morning. If you want, we can find a way for you to move back be it Willa and I moving out or-”

“No!” Sherlock interrupted forcefully. “I mean. Thank you for the offer but I would never displace you and your daughter.” He explained in a calmer voice.

John’s shoulders dropped and he seemed relieved. Had he actually considered that Sherlock would want to kick them out? They’d been honestly living on Baker Street longer than Sherlock had so really they had more a right to the place.

“Thank you for that. It’s the only home she knows. But I’m serious we’ll find a way to make it work if it’s what you want. But obviously this doesn’t need to be decided tonight so uh, goodnight again.” This time he actually turned and went into the bedroom.

Sherlock didn’t leave for the hotel until half past three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long as the prologue. It could have been since I was debating when to stop it. This seemed as good a place as any, it just means there's going to be more chapters.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! I desperately wanted to write a Christmas themed chapter but Christmas in the story is a few chapters away :(
> 
> Anyway enjoy. This chapter was difficult because it's kind of filler unfortunately things need to be set up. I've already started the next chapter so yay for that!

Sherlock didn’t sleep that night. He had left Baker street with every intention of walking straight to the hotel but as he past Regent’s Park he turned and found himself wandering through it. At first there was no purpose to his detour until he spotted a homeless man walking ahead of him. This one had to be new to the lifestyle because it was far too cold and too late for any of the veterans to be out. Sherlock approached the man, handed him some notes and directed him towards the nearest warm place from memory.

His homeless network would be defunct after all this time and that gave Sherlock a mission.

It was actually better to go about at four in the morning making his presence in the city known. The men and women out at this time would be young or new and need assistance for survival. These were the people who would easily trust him after a kind word and some change. It was the people who came out just before the morning work rush that Sherlock would have to work harder for but they also had the most knowledge of what was going on in the city. So as the city woke Sherlock began stopping in at the newly open coffee shops and buying trays of coffee to hand out.

He was close enough to Baker Street around eight to watch from a distance as John and Willa left for the day. They were both utterly unobservant and didn’t notice his observations. She was in her school uniform hair neatly held back by a black band and John by his dress was heading into the surgery. She was talking animatedly while John attempted to tie a scarf around her neck. He spent a full two minutes before finally succeeding in wrapping the purple scrap of wool. Then they were off hand in hand down the street.

As they disappeared a car came to idle beside him. Sherlock rolled his eyes though he doubted even his brother would see it and climbed in.

Mycroft had been at work for a few hours when Sherlock arrived, his coffee had been refilled twice and the second batch had gone cold in his cup.

“You didn’t check into the hotel.”

Sherlock folded his arms. “I was busy.”

Mycroft looked up. “Wandering about London freezing to death is hardly busy.”

“My homeless network needs rebuilding. I thought it was a perfectly appropriate allocation of my time.” Defended Sherlock as he resolutely refused to sit across the desk from his brother.

“Ah yes, and how is that going for you?” Mycroft’s voice was utterly irritating Sherlock at this moment.

“Fine.”

“And Doctor Watson?”

Sherlock groaned when he realized Mycroft wouldn’t get to the point quickly and finally sat. “You would know how John is, you seem to be close now.”

Near silence pervaded and it grated on Sherlock’s nerves. “Of all the goldfish _why_ Lestrade?” He asked suddenly.

For his part Mycroft didn’t even look up. “Gregory is hardly a goldfish Sherlock. If we must make aquatic references I would liken him more to a dolphin: social, intelligent…”

Sherlock made a distressed noise at the unspoken inferences. “You’ve still not answered my question.”

“Despite my best attempts to keep myself detached your exile caused me a great deal of grief and Gregory was there to pick up the pieces.” Mycroft explained tonelessly.

“That’s disgusting, I’m afraid I’ll lose my breakfast if you continue.” Sherlock said though he turned his head away, not used to this new Mycroft that expressed emotions almost easily.

“You haven’t eaten anything. Besides would you have preferred I turned to John?” Sherlock let out a low growl and Mycroft ignored him. “He was attempting to simultaneously mourn you, celebrate his daughter’s birth and save his marriage. One more bit of pressure and the man would have cracked.”

Sherlock found himself surprised once again. “His marriage?” He wasn’t sure what he had thought but since learning of Mary’s disappearance he’d not speculated as to how the marriage had ended.

“That is not my story to tell, Sherlock.” Mycroft warned, his tone a bit sharper now.

Sherlock paused. “You… you love them.” He said incredulously.

This finally got his brother to look up. “Of course I do.” He said in his best ‘don’t be silly, Sherlock’ voice. “John has become a brother to me. He stood up at my wedding for me, he trusted me to keep them safe and he gave me a niece.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Mycroft’s gaze narrowed. “Oh dear are you jealous of a six year old.” He tutted.

“No.” Sherlock said too quickly and sharply.

“You really are aren’t you?”

Sherlock looked away again. “I’m not jealous I’m just…” he wasn’t sure where he was going with that statement. He took a breath and began again. “I return after six years and John’s life revolves around her, as it rightfully should, but yours does as well and I would bet money Mrs. Hudson is positively obsessed with the girl. By all rights she appears to be the most interesting person in London.”

Mycroft’s mouth drew into a thin line, his lips almost disappearing. “And you cannot tolerate that. My life revolves around my family, Sherlock. Blood or otherwise acquired. You left and before I had Gregory and his children John, in yet another one of his foolish acts of kindness, handed over his child who is to him more precious than gold. He placed her in my arms and trusted me, something you have never done. At least not in such explicit terms.”

Sherlock wanted to argue but he found no fault in Mycroft’s logic. He did trust his brother but it would never be as simple and pure as John’s trust, that stage of their relationship had died when they were children. Sherlock fought Mycroft over every ounce of help he tried to give, tried to ignore every bit of advice he gave. It was the nature of their relationship now.

 “Do not scorn her, Sherlock, that would be the quickest way to lose any relationship you have or hope to have with John.” Mycroft continued.

“I don’t dislike her.” It was true. Sherlock had felt several bursts of emotion towards Willa the previous night and he found her tolerable as far as children went.

Mycroft nodded, pleased with the admission. “But you do not like the obstacle she represents between you and what you want.”

Sherlock left after that, not liking how accurate his brother had been in his assessment.

He was drawn once more back to Baker Street. This time Mrs. Hudson caught his arrival. Sherlock was once again impressed by her lack of surprise over the situation, she hadn’t even seemed surprised. She hugged him fiercely for a moment before ushering him into her flat where she poured tea down his throat. Between her and John Sherlock had had more tea in the past twenty-four hours than he’d had in the last two years.

She told Sherlock of her hip replacement and to his delight explained the surgery in detail. She asked him about where he’d been and he tried to tell her but kept the details to a minimum, he was never sure exactly which actions had been sanctioned by the government and it wouldn’t do to make Mrs. Hudson an accomplice in an international incident.

“Have you met Willa?” She asked while placing more biscuits on his plate.

Sherlock repressed the urge to sigh. “Yes, yesterday.”

Mrs. Hudson smiled. “Oh good. John’s trying so hard to raise her right.”

“But you feel she needs a mother?” Sherlock asked surprised. Mrs. Hudson was not the type of person he would have ever attributed that kind of thinking to, she’d always been so open minded in the past.

“No dear, I think John needs a partner. He’s got his village what with your brother, his husband, Molly, and myself but he needs someone closer to share all the intimate details of being a parent with.” She explained patting his hand gently.

This was possibly the least subtle statement she had ever made in regards to his and John’s perceived relationship and this was about a woman who used to constantly ask if they needed ‘alone time’ with a wink.

After another cup and more biscuits (Sherlock was beginning to wonder how thin he looked given that everyone was shoving food on him) he found himself climbing the stairs again.

John was indeed at the surgery today. Their Monday morning had been rushed. The dishes hadn’t even been cleared off the table and there was a hair brush with several hair ties scattered on the floor. Sherlock stepped over it and towards one of the two rooms he hadn’t seen the previous evening.

Much of the furniture in John’s room was still the same as it had been when it was Sherlock’s. Actually, everything but the mattress and the bedding was the same. Given the fact that the flat had been rearranged several times over the last few years this surprised Sherlock, though perhaps it shouldn’t have given that John was always one for sentiment in the oddest places.

The wardrobe was filled with John’s clothing now and he wondered where his own were, if they were in storage or given away. There was still a concerningly large amount of jumpers in the drawers, most of them new but Sherlock saw old favorites lovingly mixed in. There were more denims than before which indicated John was only part time at the surgery and dressed casually on the days he was off. Several them had grass stains on them, John did not coddle his daughter and the frequently played rough at the park. All of John’s pants (Sherlock had only paused for a second to considering if it was odd to be routing through his friend’s pants drawer) were several months old, in good condition but old. John wasn’t seeing anyone or even going on the pull frequently.

The bed was unmade and Sherlock smiled at it wondering how long it had taken before John had abandoned the military need to make his bed every morning, or if he was at work twitching uncomfortably remembering his messy bedroom. The sheets were a light yellow and the duvet navy blue, upon further inspection they were both of a surprisingly good quality.

Sherlock found himself toeing off his shoes and crawling onto the mattress. The sheets smelt completely of John, especially on the side closest to the door. He buried his head in the pillow and drowned in the scent.

That was how John found him hours later, curled up under the sheets with his head buried in the pillows.

~~~~~~

John sighed in exasperation as he stooped to the floor picking up hurriedly discarded shoes. Some days he scolded Willa for leaving her shoes lying about, usually those were the days when the hastily kicked off shoes nailed the wall, but some days he simply trailed behind her picking them up. He was just happy he’d finally managed to break her from completely stripping during her ascent to her room.

He could hear her upstairs rooting through drawers and her closet looking for whatever it was that she wanted to wear. They would have to spend Saturday much the way they always did, cleaning her room.

John was slightly more subdued in his desire to change from his work clothes. He took the time to properly hang up his jacket and lay his shoes on the rack in the hallway. His tie was halfway off when he reached his bedroom.

He had the tie over his head and the top buttons of his shirt open by the time he noticed the lump on the bed. He nearly dove for the wardrobe where he kept his gun in a lock box but the mop of messy black curls stopped him.

Sherlock.

John supposed he should have minded Sherlock asleep in his bed during the middle of the day but he didn’t. Something about the scene tugged at his heart and he had told him he was welcome at anytime. Sherlock had clearly not been sleeping well, the bags under his eyes the previous day had been shocking so John had no desire to kick him from his bed. Instead he quietly gathered up his clothing and went into the bathroom to change.

On his way out John shut both doors into the bedroom securely trying to block out as much noise as possible.

Willa was already at the table with a glass of milk and a plain piece of bread. John shrugged at her snack choice and cleaned up their mess from the morning.

It was odd knowing Sherlock was asleep in the next room just like old times, except it wasn’t old times. Then John would have stayed in the flat, watched a bit of the bad telly Sherlock mocked him about and maybe cleaned up some of the things Sherlock wouldn’t let him throw out when he was awake. He wouldn’t have truly cared if he made noise, Sherlocks lack of sleep was his own choosing then. Now he was contemplating how to keep his active child quiet for a few more hours to give Sherlock the rest he so desperately needed.

“Why don’t you go down and visit with Mrs. Hudson while I get tidy up and then you can help me make dinner if you like?” He asked Willa as she drained the last of her milk.

Willa set down her cup and eyed him cautiously. Homework always came right after snack and helping with dinner was a rare occurrence since she insisted she was able to do all the work herself. So naturally she was less than trusting of his motives.

“Why?” She asked.

John shrugged. “Thought a bit of a change would be nice and I know Nana wants to teach you how to bake cookies.”

At the mention of sweets Willa’s eyes lit up. “Alright!”

John really did spend the next few hours cleaning the house while simultaneously worrying about Sherlock. He knew how difficult it could be to readjust to civilian life. Sherlock might not have been a soldier the way John had been but no doubt he’d been fighting a private war for the last six years, longer really.

There was a chance that Sherlock would spend a few weeks recovering physically and then jump right back into life like he’d merely been on holiday. Or there was an equally good chance he would suffer from depression or PTSD. This was not good considering Sherlock’s previous history of drug abuse. He seemed clean currently but there was no telling if he’d been using while away.

Suggesting a therapist was entirely out of the question. John was, to his knowledge, the only doctor Sherlock had ever truly trusted and it wasn’t like John had exactly had success with his own therapist. So it was up to John and Mycroft (though the latter would no doubt be met with derision) to watch over Sherlock’s mental state.

At five, after checking on Sherlock who was still sound asleep not even flinching when John brushed his fingers over his pulse in a peek of irrationality, John went back down and interrupted the baking party that was underway. Willa only complained a little but was easily mollified by the promise of helping with dinner.

She loved sitting on the table reading out the recipes to him. Her math skills were nearly on par with her reading and John encourage her tell him how many quarter cups in a cup and a half or how many teaspoons in two tablespoons. She nearly always got it right. But her number one favorite thing to do was to don the oven mitts and slide the dish into the oven. He imagined it made her feel grown.

While Willa sat down with her homework John finally went into the bedroom to wake Sherlock.

The room was dark but John could see the other man hadn’t moved much except to possibly burrow further into the bedding. He stood in the doorway and cleared his throat. “Sherlock.”

No reaction.

“Sherlock I’ve made supper.” John tried again.

Finally John stood next to the bed and reached out to shake him awake. “Sherlock, dinner.”

Without warning Sherlock’s hand shot up and gripped at John’s wrist. His thumb was on a pressure point and digging in excruciatingly. John did his best not to wince at the pain. “Sherlock. It’s John.” He said in his best soothing voice, the one he used when Willa had nightmares.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and then cleared, he looked at his own hand in confusion before quickly dropping it.

“Sherlock, it’s me.” John repeated. He took the dropped hand as a good sign and sat on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock made a scoffing noise and sat up, his hair was wild and frankly adorable. John wanted to reach out and smooth it down. “Of course it is.”

“Are you alright?” John asked carefully.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Did I hurt you?” He reached for John’s wrist and took it gently.

“No, I’m good.” John looked down at where Sherlock had begun lightly rubbing circles into the pressure point with his thumb.

“What time is it?” Sherlock asked after a moment.

“Nearly six, I came to tell you I’ve got supper in the oven.”

Sherlock made a thoughtful noise, still rubbing John’s wrist. “You should have woken me earlier.”

Sighing John pulled his arm back. “You looked like you needed the rest.”

Sherlock opened his mouth and was about to argue or protest when Willa groaned loudly from the kitchen. “This is stupid!” Her voice insisted.

Sherlock actually looked startled at the sound whereas John just stood. “Herself is meant to be doing homework.” He made his way towards the kitchen.

John heard Sherlock leave the bedroom after him and the door of the bathroom opened. Upon reaching Willa he discovered the source of her frustration. It was a worksheet full of clocks. 

“Just do the work, Willa.” He urged her and pushed the worksheet back across to her.

“But it’s so _stupid_.” She insisted with a groan.

John ignored her and peeked into the oven to check on dinner. When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, hair somewhat tamed, Willa had only answered one of the problems. She glanced up at Sherlock excitedly and was about to say something to him when John interrupted.

“No, you’re not allowed to speak for the next ten minutes unless it’s about your homework.”

Both Sherlock and Willa looked at John.

“Ten minutes, no speaking.” John insisted as he pulled out an egg timer older than Willa and set it on the table.

Willa glared at the timer before grabbing her notebook. John had just turned back to start making tea when Sherlock snorted in amusement. Glancing over his shoulder her saw Willa holding up her notebook.

 _Can I have juice?_ Her makeshift sign read.

John rolled his eyes. “After your homework. You know you could finish it in five minutes if you would just do it.”

Willa pouted but after two minutes she finally relented and set to work. Sherlock stood behind her and watched. True to John’s prediction even with the delays she finished the work sheet with a minute to spare on the timer.

“Go wash up, we’ll do reading later.” John said as he handed Sherlock a cup of tea. Willa hastily folded up her work.

The three of them ate dinner together. Sherlock ate an entire serving without cajoling or complaint and he didn’t even comment on the fact that Willa spent most of the meal talking. John was impressed with his restraint.

Willa for her part eagerly recounted a school yard tiff that ended in two boys rolling around on the playground until the teachers broke it up.

John was proud that he startled only a little when he descended the stairs after tucking Willa in to find Sherlock curled in his chair again. He had a crystal glass of whisky in hand, a matching one was on the table next to John’s chair.

“She’s bored.” Sherlock said as soon as John reached the bottom of the stairs. “With her school work.” He clarified.

John nodded and sat in his chair. “Yes. She does supplementary work with a tutor two days a week.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “If she has a tutor why does she attend a school that gives her work far below her standard?”

“Because she needs to be bored every now and then. She needs to learn how to cope with boredom in a healthy way. She needs to learn to interact with people. Her…” John stopped and struggled with what to say. “She just needs to learn that life isn’t always interesting.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything to that, just turned and looked into the fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't get the joke because I've been informed my humor is not always obvious the 'unspoken inferences' about Lestrade and dolphins is that dolphins are notoriously horny animals, draw from that what you will.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the comments! I literally get so excited when I see the email and then I look at them while writing as encouragement. True story. So thank you.

Life continued much the same way for the next week. John and Sherlock would sit next to the fire after Willa went to bed and would talk until John grew tired. John always woke up to Sherlock gone the next morning even though he wasn’t sure when the other man was actually leaving or where he was going. Then sometime during the day Sherlock would reappear.

On the first day John was home Sherlock fell asleep on the sofa after a valiant struggle to stay awake. The next day he had off John simply nudged Sherlock down the short hall to his room. When John was working, he would come home to find Sherlock asleep in his bed. He would just shut the door and leave him sleep until supper. After the first day he didn’t bother trying to keep Willa quiet or get her out of the flat, Sherlock slept through the various noises she made.

John nearly had his wrist broken once more while trying to wake Sherlock before the man subconsciously came to accept he wasn’t in danger. By the weekend Sherlock managed to stay awake all of Saturday despite his bizarre sleeping habits. On Sunday John walked into the living room after clearing away lunch to find Sherlock and Willa asleep on the sofa. They were both curled up like cats at either end with one blanket thrown atop both of them.

John spent the next two hours alternating between reading and watching them sleep.

Willa was accustomed to Sherlock now. She enjoyed him around mostly because he was more than willing to indulge in her experiments once he learned she wasn’t just labeling mess making ‘experiments.’

On Wednesday night the forecast had called for more snow. Willa had jumped up and ran into the kitchen upon hearing the news. She’d pulled out bowls and set them on the table before climbing into John’s lap excitedly, nearly knocking his laptop to the floor.

“Daddy.” She said solemnly. “I need you to put the bowls out to collect snow tonight.”

John, after having rescued his computer from certain death, wrapped his arms around her. “Why is that?”

Willa rolled her eyes. “My experiment.” She insisted.

Sherlock snorted from the desk where he was writing something.

Willa knew when she was being mocked and she glared at Sherlock’s back. “I had to stop it last time because you came home.” She informed him icily.

Sherlock turned at her tone. “Dying snow colors is hardly an experiment.” John was growing concerned he was about to have to intervene in this very bizarre spat.

Willa stuck out her chin and folded her arms. “I wasn’t dying the snow.”

Sherlock leaned forward in the desk chair towards them. “Then what were you doing?”

Willa smirked and John recognized it as her ‘you’ve lost’ face, he almost felt bad for Sherlock. “I was testing to see if food dyes affected how fast snow melted and if so which colors affected it the most.” John could hear Mycroft in her words. No doubt he’d helped her refined her hypothesis when they’d been in the kitchen that day waiting for John and Sherlock to come up.

Sherlock actually spluttered and just for that John was more than willing to sacrifice his bowls to her experiments.

“Oh. Well.” Sherlock finally managed after a minute. “I’ve got a stopwatch we can use.”

Thursday afternoon Willa sped through her homework before even getting a snack. She waited patiently by the bathroom door after John woke Sherlock but as soon as he emerged she was a ball of energy. Sherlock had only held up the stopwatch and asked her to get the bowls. John had skipped cooking dinner and just ordered take away because the sight of Sherlock Holmes bent over the kitchen table explaining proper scientific documentation to a five-year-old was too precious to interrupt.

He even snapped a few photos with his phone and sent one off to Mycroft.

They spent the weekend coming up with several ideas for further experiments, Willa brainstorming and Sherlock helping her expand the ideas or just writing them onto the list if he felt they were developed enough. The list was stuck to the refrigerator Sunday night after dinner.

Thursday was the night Sherlock decided to start opening up about where he’d been for the last six years. John found he needed considerably more to drink after this night.

Sherlock didn’t leave anything out and he knew his kill count without stopping to think. He never hid a single action from John but instead laid everything out in the open. John was grateful Sherlock was trusting him this much but it was still difficult to swallow. John had fought in a war so it wasn’t the violence that disturbed him but the way Sherlock delivered the story, in this flat monotonous voice, that made the entire situation more unsettling.

John needed to listen though because he was certain Sherlock would never open up to anyone else this way. So he drank a little more to keep his courage whereas the other man seemed to need less as he told his story.

Sherlock’s tale woke up John’s own war stories and he had his first war nightmare in years the next night. He didn’t tell his friend because he knew Sherlock would clam up out of some desire to protect John. So instead he would just roll over in bed and silently cry, more for Sherlock than himself, until he fell asleep once more.

On Tuesday John was paying bills while Sherlock showered when he realized there was a problem. Sherlock’s allowance had cleared into his bank account that morning. Mycroft had either forgotten about changing it back or simply hadn’t gotten around to it, either way it made John look at his finances a little closer than he had in years.

On his part time salary at the surgery he’d be able to afford the rent, the other bills and some food but there was no way he’d be able to pay Willa’s school tuition or her tutor’s fee. Even if he went full time he would only be just able to cover the tutor and the rest would go to better quality food. Things would be tight unless he got a job at a proper hospital and worked overtime.

He needed to see Mycroft but he didn’t want to alarm Sherlock, the last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to feel guilty about the state of his finances. The best way to accomplish both was switch shifts. Molly happily agreed to watch Willa on Saturday which left John free to switch shifts with Dr. Ramos who worked on the weekends.

By the time Sherlock emerged, his hair tamed into an image of its former self, John had settled everything.

“We’re putting the tree up this evening if you want to avoid the whole mess.” John offered as he shut his computer.

Sherlock looked up from where he was sniffing leftovers in the refrigerator. “The tree?”

John suppressed a chuckle. “Christmas. It’s in ten days.”

Sherlock pulled a face and replaced the dish. “Why artificial?”

“What?”

“You said ‘putting the tree up’ not ‘getting a tree’ so the tree is most likely artificial.” Sherlock explained and sounded irritated having to do so. John was secretly pleased because Sherlock had been unusually patient and apathetic towards things that had once driven him mad.

“Willa’s allergic, learned that her first Christmas. Luckily I realized it at the tree lot rather than after I paid. She’s miserable in the spring.” John explained with a small smile.

He’d been mortified when his eleven-month-old had broken out in hives at the tree lot. He’d had this grand image of letting her pick the tree and perhaps one day they’d be able to cut down their own. Born out of the desire to make everything perfect for his daughter since she was missing a parent. Instead they’d had to go to the store and pick a tree there.

Sherlock looked almost intrigued at that bit of information. “You don’t have allergies.” He commented coming into the room.

“No I don’t.” John agreed. Mary had once told him she’d had the worst allergies as a child and remembered being held down for regular allergy shots. He worked under the assumption that it had been one of the few truths she’d told him, as he did for most of Willa’s medical history.

John had expected Sherlock to heed his warning about the Christmas festivities that would take place and spend the evening elsewhere. Yet Sherlock was not only still in the flat when John returned from picking up Willa from school, he was awake and sitting at the desk typing something on John’s computer.

John lugged the Christmas box down from the storage room next to Willa’s and she squealed loudly at the sight. She would not be deterred from the idea that they had to put up the tree _right now_ so John found himself digging out the pieces of the tree. Sherlock offered no help, just smirked from the sofa as John wrestled with putting it together. Willa fluttered around the edge of the room offering some not so helpful suggestions.

Once the tree was more or less upright Willa dove for the large box they kept their special ornaments in. Each year they went to the store, picked out new special ones and then every year since she was in nursery John would save one or two of the handmade ornaments. Every year less and less generic ornaments made it on to the tree and every year it made John happy to see that.

“Daddy look! My first Christmas.” Willa exclaimed holding up a small silver baby shoe, on the sole was inscribed ‘Willa’s 1st Christmas, 2015’

“Go hang it up then.” John urged as he was trying to untangle the beaded garland.

Sherlock slid to the floor and was rooting through the box of ornaments. He was taking one out, examining it before placing it on the floor in front of him. John wondered what he was learning from each new ornament. Willa’s reflected her changing interests as she grew from Minnie Mouse her second Christmas to last year’s ballerina. John’s were simply random ones that had made him smile like a fat round Santa to the tea cup Willa had seen and insisted he needed.

When Sherlock pulled out a small separate box John sucked in a breath and began fighting in earnest with the garland.

Willa turned around just in time to see Sherlock go to open the box. “Those are daddy’s other ones, he puts them up after I go to bed.”

John cursed Willa in his head, he had thought he’d done a better job at hiding them from her. John knew exactly what was inside of the box: a small petri dish with a fake virus culture, a violin, a tiny glass Florence flask, a golden sun, and a fuzzy white rabbit. He’d seen the sun while buying Willa’s first ornament and had grabbed it on impulse. Every year after he found another that reminded him of Sherlock. Typically they were hung near the back of the tree simply because seeing them every day during the holiday made him sad thinking about Sherlock who wasn’t home.

Sherlock opened the box while John determinedly did not look at him. Willa was oblivious to the whole thing and was currently finding the best spot for her next ornament.

There was a little intake of breath when Sherlock saw the contents that told John he’d picked up on the meanings. After a minute of silence John finally got the nerve to look up. He found Sherlock holding the little violin gingerly between his fingers, just staring at it.

Sherlock turned to look at John as if he felt himself being watched suddenly.

John shrugged weakly. “I’m soppy remember?”

Sherlock nodded curtly, emotions crossed his face so quickly John couldn’t read them all. Then he stood and strode over to the tree, box in hand. As he hung up the violin John let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

John joined them after a moment and between the three of them the tree was decorated in short order.

That night they didn’t talk after Willa went to bed. Sherlock was in his chair, fingers folded beneath his chin, just staring at the tree obviously lost in thought. John left him to it and decided Sherlock would let him in on what he was thinking if he wanted.

After dropping Willa off at school John turned around and headed towards Mycroft’s office, his proper one not the one he used in the Diogenes Club.

As usual security merely nodded in his direction when he entered the building. Yes, he had to go through the metal detectors but there were no longer any interrogations or further pat downs. John was also left to his own devices to make his way down to the office though he had no doubt there were dozens of cameras tracking his every move.

He knocked only once before pushing the door open, Mycroft was expecting him. What John hadn’t expected was to push open the door and be greeted by both Holmes brothers.

“Sherlock, what are you doing here?” John asked hoping his question passed for casual.

By the groan and eye roll it didn’t. “You were worried yesterday but didn’t mention anything to me.” Sherlock said as if that explained everything. Which, John guessed, it did.

~~~~~~

Sherlock wondered, not for the first time, if John had forgotten he was a detective. Anyone would have been able to see the worry that was written on his face the night before, even Willa had taken notice of the mood and tried to cheer John up. Since John obviously did not feel up to telling him about it there was one other option, confirmed when he showed up bright and early at Mycroft’s office and his brother tried to usher him out.

John sighed, threw up his hands and sat in the empty chair.

Mycroft spoke first once it was clear John was too uncomfortable to start the conversation. Finances then. John had always been uncomfortable talking about money to others.

“John.” Mycroft began. “I assume you have a reason for asking to meet, you usually do not insist upon meeting during business hours for a social visit.”

John looked down at his hands, clenched his fists a few times before taking a deep breath. “Money cleared into my account yesterday.” He said finally.

Sherlock tried not to smile because he was right, John would take it the wrong way.

Mycroft looked bored. “As it has every month for the last several years.”

“Yeah but he’s back now and it’s rightfully his.” John said and gestured towards Sherlock. Sherlock was confused for a moment before realizing the money John was talking about was part of his trust fund.

Before anyone could say anything else John took another deep breath and continued. “I’m sure you’re aware that without it I can’t afford the school. Going full time I can probably just afford her tutor if I drop her down to once a week. It wouldn’t be ideal but the local school does have a gifted-“

“John.” Sherlock interrupted unable to sit through anymore of the babbling, Mycroft was visably relieved not to have to listen to it as well. John’s mouth audibly snapped shut.

“It’s my money and you came to Mycroft instead of me.” Sherlock was more than a little upset. Not just because John didn’t think he was capable of dealing with his own money but because John had thought Mycroft was a better option to discuss it with.

John had the decency to feel guilty. “It’s not that Sherlock.” He protested and Sherlock wondered if the hurt was visible on his face. “I just didn’t want you to worry about my money problems. I’m only here talking with Mycroft because he donated a significant amount of money to get her into this school, I don’t want it to look bad when I pull her out.”

“You will be doing no such thing.” Mycroft cut in tersely.

John opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock cut him off with a raised hand. “Have you thought to ask me what I feel should happen with _my_ money?”

John looked guilty again but didn’t say anything.

Sherlock huffed. Sometimes John was painfully dense. “John. Ask me.” He insisted.

John looked to Mycroft with a pleading face but Mycroft didn’t help. “Fine.” John exclaimed loudly as he turned towards Sherlock finally. “Sherlock what are you planning to do about the money situation?”

Sherlock felt his lips curl up at the pure spite John managed to put into the question. “John, I have more than enough money. I have no interest in removing Willa from the life she’s grown accustomed to.”

John seemed to deflate at the sentence. Sherlock could see he was torn between being grateful and not wanting charity. He honestly could not tell if John’s pride would get the better of him. Once he would have been certain John would turn down the money but now there was a child to think of.

Sherlock decided to make it easier on him. “Besides I will have need of you when I begin taking cases again.”

Slowly John nodded.

Sherlock really did intend on taking cases again. He knew it wouldn’t be as simple as he made it sound, John would be more hesitant to run head first into danger but Sherlock had realized long ago he needed John to work at his best. He’d survived in exile but only just barely, there were new scars as a testament the fact he hadn’t been as quick as he should have been.

“Now that that nonsense is settled.” Mycroft said drawing both Sherlock and John’s attention to him. “We have another matter to discuss. Brother dear you cannot go on with your current… living arrangement.”

“Why not?” Both Sherlock and John asked at the same time. Sherlock felt a warmth in his chest knowing John wasn’t eager to kick him out.

Mycroft looked at them like they were both idiots but he spoke to John, most likely because he assumed John was the easier one to sway. “John, do you know where he’s going at night?”

John cast a sideways glance at Sherlock. “No.”

“He’s wandering about the city rebuilding his homeless network.” Mycroft informed him.

John laughed and even Sherlock was caught off guard by that. “Jesus, Mycroft, if that’s the worst thing he’s doing then I consider it to be a productive week.”

Mycroft’s mouth twisted not having expected John to feel that way. “So you feel the arrangement you two currently have is long term?”

John considered this a second before slowly shaking his head. “Well, no. I imagine Sherlock will need his own space soon.”

“Hello, I am in the room.” Sherlock said loudly. It was irksome to have them speaking about him as if he wasn’t in there. He’d spent the last several years of his life with others making decisions for him, he was damned to spend the future the same way.

“You plan to start consulting again don’t you?” Mycroft asked turning to look at Sherlock this time.

“I did just say that.” Sherlock agreed.

“And where do you intend to meet clients? Or put up crime scene photos? Over the mantel where you used to? In full view of a six-year-old?”

Mycroft had a point and Sherlock hated to admit it. Sherlock himself would never allow strangers near Willa, especially since in the past many of them had turned out to be dangerous. John would never go for photos of murders hanging on the wall anymore. He would need somewhere else before opening business again.

“That’s true, Sherlock.” John said saving him from having to agree.

“I don’t want to leave Baker Street.” Was all Sherlock said.

Mycroft smiled smugly when he realized he’d gotten his point across. “I’m not asking you to. You’re aware 221C has never been rented successfully.”

Oh. Sherlock found he rather liked that idea. He could still spend much of the day as he did now except dangerous experiments and crime scene photos would be close at hand. The flat did need a great deal of work but it would keep Willa safe upstairs and allow John to help regularly with cases.

It was a rather good idea.

“I can’t have the mould interfering with my experiments.” Sherlock complained crossing his arms.

“We can have cleaners out before Christmas.” Mycroft answered.

“Make sure they do a thorough job.” Sherlock said before standing and walking towards the door. Once he realized John was not following he looked over his shoulder. “Let’s go, John.”

John held up his hand to silence Sherlock. “Well we’ve settled all that but there’s one more thing.”

Sherlock stopped and tried to think of what else there was to talk about.

“What are the plans for Christmas?” John asked Mycroft.

“Deborah is in Cyprus with her new boyfriend and asked if we would take the children for the entire break.” Mycroft informed him.

John looked shocked. “How’s Greg taking that?”

The comments made sense to Sherlock now. Deborah had been the name of Lestrade’s cheating wife.

“Thrilled to have the children for two weeks but less thrilled at her choice as to how the spend the holidays.” Mycroft said diplomatically though his loathing for the woman was clear when he spoke about her. “We were thinking doing dinner on Christmas day at around four since we don’t have to return them.”

John nodded. “Alright I’ll make note.”

“You will be expected of course.” Mycroft said turning his gaze back to Sherlock.

“Maybe.” Was all he said before leaving, not caring if John was following this time or not.

He was thinking about the last Christmas he’d spent with anyone. That had been the Christmas he’d shot Magnessen to protect John. Sherlock had purposefully avoided the holiday in the following years, not that it would have mattered he was only a ghost then. The idea of spending the day at his brother’s house with everyone was causing panic to well up in his chest. There was no way he was going to spend the day in hell like that.

“Sherlock. Damnit slow down!” John was yelling behind him slightly out of breath.

It was then that Sherlock realized he’d been almost running away from the office. They were now out on the street more than a block away. John had been chasing him.

Sherlock did slow his stride but didn’t stop walking until a hand wrapped around his wrist in a viselike grip.

“Sherlock. Stop.” John pleaded pulling back his arm so Sherlock was forced to turn and look at him. “Jesus, thank you.”

Sherlock stuffed his free hand into his pocket, unwilling to pull his other arm out of John’s grip he left it hanging.

“You don’t have to go this year. Mycroft didn’t realize, he wasn’t thinking.” John said quickly as if he were afraid Sherlock would bolt again.

“Don’t apologize for my brother, it’s disturbing.” Sherlock sneered. It was almost as disturbing as the fact that John was so easily able to read him. That he knew exactly what had caused Sherlock’s flight from the office.

“Just spend Christmas Eve with Willa and I okay? You don’t have to do anything on Christmas day if you don’t want but I promise it won’t be like that.” John explained. Sherlock wondered if he was aware that he was very nearly holding his hand in the middle of a public street.

“I’ll spend Christmas Eve with you.” Sherlock capitulated after a moment. It was immediately obvious how much John had wanted him to say that, his face lit up in a bright smile.

“Good. Now you should go home and rest since you’ve apparently been spending your nights haunting the streets.” John’s tone was playful, he really didn’t mind that Sherlock was spending his nights that way.

“Where will you be?” Sherlock asked when he realized John wasn’t planning on coming with.

John shrugged. “I’ve got the day off and Willa’s at school. I thought I would do some Christmas shopping.”

“I’ll come with.” Sherlock found himself offering.

John did a double take after he said that. “Are you sure? You hate Christmas shopping and well… Christmas.”

“There will be less people out now and someone needs to make sure you don’t spend your money on hideous trinkets.”

John laughed. It wasn’t a small chuckle but a deep laugh from his stomach and he didn’t stop. As he dropped Sherlock’s wrist to wrap an arm around his middle, he found he missed it. Sherlock was beginning to get concerned after a moment since he didn’t think anything he had said was actually that funny.

Once John regained composure he favored Sherlock with a smile. “God I’ve missed you saying things like that.”

Sherlock didn’t know why John found that so pleasing but he was just glad that he’d been able to make John happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been updating very frequently. I just wanted to let you all know this isn't normal for me but as long as the story is flowing I will do my best to get it out.
> 
> ALSO the frickin Christmas tree scene wasn't supposed to exist but it was Christmas yesterday and I HAD to have something. It's so sappy I'm really not sorry.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deviated slightly from my normal writing for this chapter because the Mary conversation NEEDED to be in Sherlock's POV.  
> Poor John gets less than 900 words. Oh well I'm sure I'll make it up to him in the future.

True to Mycroft’s word there were workers in 221C on the following Friday. Sherlock spent the first half of the day scrutinizing their methods much to the irritation of the men. Despite their obvious annoyance with Sherlock they were exceptionally polite right up until they kicked him out under the guise of needing protective suits with some of the chemicals.

Clearly Mycroft had warned them about him. Boring.

Sherlock was about to throw himself on the sofa when the stairs up to Willa’s room caught his attention. Despite having been living in the flat for nearly two weeks he hadn’t ever been up to her room. He could remember exactly what it had looked like when it had been John’s, down to the titles of the books he’d kept on his nightstand.

He was climbing the stairs without any further thought.

Her door was open and from the hall Sherlock could tell there had been major changes made to the room. Centered above the white upholstered daybed was a soft pink crown that seemed very fitting for the girl. The rest of her furniture was excellent quality and made of matching white wood including the desk she clearly spent a great deal of time at.

Willa had a large number of toys with everything from dolls to a robotics kit. There were even more books than toys and they filled shelves that circled the room. Sherlock was pleased to see an even mixture of fiction and nonfiction among them. A biography of Marie Curie sat on a shelf next to a book called ‘Pirate Princess’. On her nightstand was ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ with a bit of paper sticking out acting as a bookmark.

Sherlock was making his way to her desk to examine the papers covering it when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_Why are you in Willa’s room?_

Just as he was about to respond to John’s text his phone went off again.

_Above the door._

Turning Sherlock saw a small dome camera affixed to the ceiling by the door. It wiggled back and forth when he looked at it, John was controlling it from work.

_A camera? – SH_

_Also a motion detector._

_Which is how you knew I was in here. Why? -SH_

_It’s necessary. Why are you in Willa’s room?_

_Haven’t seen it yet. -SH_

_Don’t touch anything she’ll kill you._

_I doubt she’d notice. -SH_

_You’d be surprised._

Sherlock pointedly rolled his eyes at the camera and went back to looking at the papers on Willa’s desk. Most were drawings though a good number had stories written on the back. For her age they were quite good and she was very fond of writing about a little girl detective.

Sherlock smiled at the pages before putting them back as they were.

As he replaced the pages he surreptitiously took stock of the room. A camera wouldn’t have been odd in an infant or toddler room but Willa was nearly six, plus John had confessed to there being a motion detector on the camera as well. There were also bars on the windows and yet there were motion detectors on those, no doubt if he opened a window a security firm would be alerted. There were more security measures in this one room than there were in the rest of the house.

It was definitely odd.

Willa bounced into the living room when she got home, shoes trailing behind her and she threw off her coat. Upon seeing Sherlock in his chair she went over to him.

“Guess what?” She asked excitedly, her toes nudging his.

“I don’t like guessing.” Sherlock told her.

She wasn’t discouraged. “Aunt Molly is coming over tomorrow!” Willa told him happily.

Sherlock looked around her to John who was hanging up their coats.

Willa bent so she was completely in his line of site. “Daddy says you and Aunt Molly are friends.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, Molly Hooper is my friend.”

“But you can’t be Aunt Molly’s boyfriend she’s married to Uncle Aaron, I was in their wedding.” Willa informed him.

John made a noise in the kitchen. “You can tell her to go away. I won’t be offended.” He called to Sherlock.

Willa made a disgruntled noise. “I would be.”

“You’re very lively today.” Sherlock commented to Willa who was still bouncing up and down where she stood.

She bobbed her head violently. “It was Hannah Miller’s birthday today. We got cupcakes!” Suddenly she whirled around to look at John. “For my birthday can I bring in cupcakes?”

John flipped a few pages on the wall calendar. “Yeah, your birthday’s during the week so I’ll talk to your teacher and we’ll make cupcakes.”

Willa groaned. “Make them? Can’t we buy them? Hannah Miller’s cupcakes were from a bakery and they had sugar flowers on them.”

Sherlock could see John’s face tightening. John had grown up in a home that wasn’t even middle class, he’d never told Sherlock that but enough of his habits spoke of it. Now Willa was attending a school that Mycroft had to buy their way into.

“Why do you want cupcakes from a store?” Sherlock asked drawing Willa’s attentions back to him.

Willa shrugged. “Because that’s what everyone brings in.”

“You want to be like everyone? That’s boring.” Sherlock informed her. From the corner of his eye he could see John watching the exchange cautiously.

Willa shrugged again, the gesture was smaller this time.

“What’s in the cupcakes you and your father make?” Sherlock asked her.

“Flour, eggs, sugar-” Willa paused trying to remember the next ingredient.

Sherlock interrupted her thoughts. “Do you know what’s in store cupcakes?”

Willa looked confused at the question. “Flour, eggs and sugar?” She asked after a moment.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes and Disodium Diphosphate, **Soya** lecithin, glycerol…” he trailed off as he saw her face draw up in confusion. “That doesn’t sound good does it?”

She shook her head emphatically.

“Besides baking is very scientific.” Sherlock continued and upon watching her face light up he knew he’d won the argument.

“It is?” She asked.

Sherlock nodded. “Of course. What does the batter look like?”

“Goopy… kind of like liquid.” Willa said.

“And when it comes out?”

Willa’s eyes grew wider. “It’s solid.”

“Exactly, so are we going to bake your cupcakes to find out how that happens or do you want boring store bought cupcakes?” He asked her finally.

“Baking.” Willa answered instantly.

Sherlock sank back in his chair and smirked triumphantly at John who returned it with a genuine smile and a small head shake.

“Alright you, go change. You’re having something healthy for snack.” John warned Willa as he walked into the living room waving his hands at her.

She clambered up the stairs, one hand dragging along the wall.

John perched on the arm of his chair just looking at Sherlock for a moment. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“You were getting upset.” Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

John nodded. “I don’t want her to be a brat but I don’t want her to be teased for being poor… well poor in comparison to most of the children in her class.”

“I doubt most children look at their cupcakes, rather just shove them in their faces. Hannah Miller sounds like a braggart.” Sherlock told him.

John chuckled and went into the kitchen. “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Why is Molly coming over?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh I’m working tomorrow for the doctor that covered Wednesday’s shift for me.” John explained over his shoulder. “Willa needs a babysitter.”

Sherlock was glad John wasn’t looking at him when he said that. He made a noise of uninterested acknowledgement.

John most likely didn’t mean anything by it. He’d been planning to keep the Wednesday meeting with Mycroft a secret from Sherlock so he would have set up childcare beforehand and wouldn’t have been able to ask him. Yet doubt lingered in Sherlock. Why wouldn’t John have asked him? He would have obviously realized John was going into work on a Saturday. Surely Molly had something better to do than spend the day with Willa, especially since Sherlock would be in the flat anyway.

He thought John trusted him and it wasn’t even like Sherlock was actively taking cases or had the means for consuming experiments. Besides, Willa would probably have been overjoyed to work on more of their list.

Sherlock stood abruptly. “I’m going out.”

He could hear John pause while cutting up the meat and cheese for Willa’s snack. “Alright.”

Willa nearly ran into him at the foot of the stairs. “Oh.” She said. “Where are you going?”

“Out, I have to meet with someone.” Sherlock informed her, he reached out and pushed some the loose hair away from her face.

“Alright, will you be back for dinner?” She asked.

Sherlock hesitated not sure what he wanted say to her. “Probably not.” He settled on.

Her face dropped anyway. “Oh, alright.”

He didn’t really have anywhere to go but he later found himself outside of the New Scotland Yard building. Lestrade’s office was in the same place though he didn’t recognize many of the faces as he walked through the building, what’s more no one seemed to recognize him.

Lestrade jumped in his seat when Sherlock pushed open the door.

“I should have known it was you.” Lestrade muttered as he settled back into his chair.

“I am planning to begin taking clients again after the new year.” Sherlock informed him.

Lestrade nodded. “Yes, your brother mentioned.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose. “Is it weird having pillow talk about me?”

Lestrade pulled a similar face. “I assure you all talk of you is kept firmly outside the bedroom.”

“I want to take police cases again too.” Sherlock continued.

Lestrade made another face. “Listen. I want you to as well but there’ll be some issues.”

“Yes, I shot a man. I know but I doubt there’s any official record of that anymore.” Sherlock insisted.

Lestrade shook his head. “Not the problem actually. We’ve got a new superintendent and I’m not sure how he’ll react.”

“Why aren’t you superintendent?” Lestrade was overqualified for the position and if they’d just hired a new one why wouldn’t they have just promoted him. It also helped that his husband was the British government.

“Didn’t want it.” Lestrade said simply. “I already don’t see my family enough. Going any higher wouldn’t make that better. I’m happy where I am.”

“Well then have my brother stick his nose in. He does so love to do that.” Sherlock said as he leaned forward and picked up one of the pictures off the desk.

Lestrade tried to snatch the photo from Sherlock but he moved to quickly, pulling it to his side of the desk. “Your brother only interferes when he has to.”

Lestrade and Mycroft looked the same in the photo so it was a recent one, Lestrade’s children were also in the photograph. The four of them were seated on a bench in the back garden of Mycroft’s house, all smiling sincerely at the camera.

He handed the photo back to Lestrade who looked at it a moment before putting it back. “My birthday dinner. I told them all I wanted was a decent photo of the four of us.”

“What are you and my brother doing tonight?”

“Nothing really planned.” Lestrade answered after looking at him a moment.

Sherlock swallowed. “I would like to have dinner with you two, tonight.”

“No you don’t.” Lestrade informed him. “But I reckon you’re not going to tell me what you’re really up to. So go ahead and text him if you want.”

Eating with Mycroft and Lestrade wasn’t the worst thing Sherlock had ever done, he had been tortured after all. They managed to remain mostly civil throughout the entire dinner. Lestrade’s presence alone took the bite out of Mycroft’s retorts and one sharp look from him when Sherlock had made a comment about Mycroft’s diet had caused Sherlock to unexpectedly shut up.

Damn his respect for the man.

He ignored two texts from John and spent the night in one of their guest rooms, ignoring Mycroft’s knowing looks.

John sent three more texts just after seven the next morning asking where Sherlock was. Sherlock ignored him. He intentionally spent the morning away from Baker Street. He found he was frequently wondering what Willa was doing with Molly. He lasted until three before hailing a cab.

Molly and Willa were at the kitchen table when he walked in. There were several colors of nail polish sitting between them and Willa seemed to have every color on her nails. She was now painting Molly’s fingers a light blue.

“Hello, Sherlock.” Willa greeted not looking up from her task.

Molly startled and her head whipped around to look at him. “Sherlock. I didn’t think you’d be here. John said he wasn’t sure where you were.”

“Hello Molly.” Sherlock greeted before walking around the table and resting a hand on Willa’s shoulder. “Hello Willa.”

Molly’s eyes followed him around the kitchen. Sherlock noted that she wasn’t watching him the same way she used to, like a love-sick puppy. Now she just looked genuinely concerned. “It’s really good to see you, Sherlock. I was so happy when John said you were back.”

Sherlock felt guilty for not having visited Molly but once John had told him she’d married he wasn’t sure he wanted to interrupt that. It seemed, though, that she’d finally gotten over her fixation with him. “I’m sorry for not visiting.” He apologized awkwardly.

“No, it’s fine. I’m sure you’ve just been trying to settle in.” She said understandingly.

“Why blue?” Sherlock asked leaning over Willa to inspect her job.

“Aunt Molly’s found out the baby is going to be a boy.” Willa explained absently.

Sherlock looked up at Molly in surprise.

“Oh no I’m not.” Molly waved her free hand towards herself. “Aaron and I decided to adopt. We were matched with a birth mother a few weeks ago and she didn’t want to find out what the baby was until he had a family.”

Sherlock could see Molly as a mother, she’d always had the personality to be great with children and Willa spoke highly of her.

“That’s actually why we’re here instead of my house.” Molly continued. “Aaron is doing a bit of DIY on the nursery.”

Willa put the brush back into the bottle as she finished Molly’s nails. “I’m going to have a baby cousin soon.”

“Yes, you’ll have to come over sometime and help me with him.” Molly agreed pulling her fingers to her mouth to blow on them.

“Do you think I’ll ever have a baby brother or sister?” Willa asked wistfully.

Molly coughed, her eyes flickering up to Sherlock before glancing away. “That’s something to ask your daddy.”

“I do but he always makes the sad face,” Willa demonstrated an eerily perfect replication of John’s depressed expression. “and doesn’t answer.”

“Why did you do your fingers all of those colors?” Sherlock asked changing the subject quickly.

Willa looked up at him with narrowed eyes sensing she was being redirected. “Because I like all of these colors.”

It was just after four when Sherlock got the next text from John.

_Look I’m done work. Please come home, we should talk._

_I’m already here. -SH_

_Thank god. I’ll be there soon._

~~~~~~

John spent the entire day worrying about Sherlock. His leaving in the middle of the afternoon had been odd enough but then to not return home, even for a little, had caused John to worry. The only thing that had stopped him from dropping into a full blown panic was a text from Greg saying Sherlock was at their house.

That was about the time John realized Sherlock was upset. He’d thought he might be after the way he left but for Sherlock to willingly spend time near his brother meant something was really bothering him and it had to do with John.

Willa had been quiet at dinner once she realized Sherlock wasn’t going to be there. They’d both gotten very used to his presence in such a short time.

He had tried texting him in the morning on his way to work but had gotten no reply.

Despite his best attempts to behave like a professional John found he was distracted all day worrying about the other man at work. Trying to figure out exactly what he could have done to upset Sherlock that much. Wondering where he was now and what he was doing. It was just like being in a bloody relationship

Halfway through diagnosing the third ear infection of the day John remembered the conversation they’d been having right before Sherlock got upset. John had told him Molly was babysitting. Had that been what upset Sherlock? Had he wanted to watch Willa?

As soon as he’d seen his last patient for the day John text Sherlock, trying to let him know he knew he was troubled by something. It came as a great relief when Sherlock text back.

Eager to get home he hailed a cab.

John walked into the flat and found Sherlock and Willa curled up on the sofa, Willa leaning into his side reading to him. Molly was sitting in his own chair watching them.

“Oh John, hello.” She said when she realized he was in the doorway.

Willa stopped reading and looked up at him. “Daddy you’re home!” She exclaimed but didn’t move from her spot.

Sherlock didn’t look up. He was definitely upset.

“Good day at work?” Molly asked standing. She already had her purse and coat in hand.

John shrugged. “Busy. Cold and flu season.”

He managed to exchange a few more pleasantries with Molly before she left. He was too busy watching Sherlock and Willa to engage in their conversation properly. Willa had resumed reading and Sherlock really seemed to be paying attention to her.

Once Molly left John considered interrupting them but chose instead to start dinner. Whatever was upsetting Sherlock was probably not anything Willa needed to hear them discuss.

Sherlock already had the whiskey out when John made it back downstairs.

“I upset you yesterday.” John started.

Sherlock nodded but wouldn’t meet his eyes.

 “I think, and feel free to correct me, that it was something to do with Willa.” John continued.

Sherlock nodded again.

John wondered if he’d have to carry out this entire conversation by himself. “Was it because I asked Molly to babysit and not you?” Yet another nod. “Sherlock you have to talk with me, I’m just guessing here.”

“Why didn’t you want me to watch her?” Sherlock asked finally.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” John insisted firmly. “Sherlock you’ve been great with Willa, more fantastic than necessary but I don’t know if you want to watch her-”

Sherlock scoffed. “She’s hardly a burden, John, of course I wouldn’t mind watching her.”

John rolled his eyes. “That’s what I mean. I didn’t know that. Every person who I’ve ever asked to watch her has said ‘oh I’d love to babysit’ or ‘call me if you need any help’ before I asked. You haven’t. In fact I don’t even know if you just tolerate her because of me.”

“I _love_ her John. I loved her before I even met her because she’s your daughter.” Sherlock growled sounding properly insulted. “I like her because she’s an exceptional person.”

Despite being irritated at Sherlock for blowing something simple out of proportion John had to smile at that declaration. He’d always hoped Sherlock would like Willa or at least be able to stand her so they could continue their friendship. To hear Sherlock admit that he loved her, quite possibly the first time John had heard Sherlock admit to loving anyone in such explicit terms, was very close to a dream come true.

“I feel like I’m walking a thin line between asking you to do too much and insulting you by not asking for help. I’m always worried about overstepping my bounds in this with everyone and it’s no different with you.” John explained taking a sip of his drink.

“Just ask me then.” Sherlock insisted. “When have you ever known me to keep quiet when I think someone is using me?”

“Fair point.” John agreed. “But you also have to tell me if you want to do something. Even if it’s not about Willa. I’m trying not to ask too much of you but I’m just guessing at what you’re ready for. So if you want something tell me.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop coddling me.”

“It’s my job.” John asserted.

“It’s really not.”

Neither man said anything further for nearly an hour.

~~~~~~

It was Sherlock who finally broke the silence, embolden by John’s urging to just ask for what he wanted.

There was one question he’d yet to ask that was weighing on his mind. It was becoming even more pressing with every day. Especially after seeing Willa’s room.

“What happened with Mary?”

John snorted. “You know I expected you to ask that sooner.”

Sherlock would have, he meant to, but it never seemed to be the right time. “I didn’t want to ask in front of Willa since I don’t think she knows.”

“How’d you know that?” John asked but didn’t look in the least bit surprised.

Sherlock gave John a ‘really?’ look. “Willa has endeavored to tell me about everyone in her life, down to the third year teacher who gives her sweets after school, and she has never once mentioned Mary. There are no pictures of her around the flat, there aren’t even the photos of us from your wedding.”

John smiled sheepishly. “Alright, good point.”

“So.” Sherlock urged. “What happened?”

John downed his drink completely. “I tried to forgive her for what she did to you. If I’m honest I think I knew that sometime after Willa was born we’d split but I wanted to try, not just for her but because of what you went through to protect us. I owed it to you to try.”

Sherlock wanted to interrupt, to tell John that he didn’t owe anything to him but he knew if he did John might not give him the whole story. That was what Sherlock needed most at this point.

“Willa was born less than a week after you left and I think that was a blessing. She filled my days and kept me too busy to worry about you properly. I think, though, that the first sign of something wrong was that if she knew I was home Mary never did a thing for Willa. Never cuddled her or played peek-a-boo when I was around, didn’t want to feed her or give her a bath. After Willa learned to smile socially it was always aimed at me, like she knew she never really had her mother’s attentions.” John continued.

Sherlock wondered how often Mary had ignored Willa’s cues for attention before the infant had learned she wasn’t interested. It broke his heart because Willa thrived under positive attention.

John took a steadying breath and looked down at his empty glass. “Mycroft abducted us in May and brought us to his office. It was the first time I’d seen him in months, I was mad at him for not finding a way to keep you here. As it turns out Mary had decided being a mum wasn’t what she’d wanted after all. She was working again as an assassin.”

“Oh John.” Sherlock said and it took a moment to realize he’d said it out loud. John nodded and stood, going into the kitchen to refill his drink.

Sherlock was full of fury. He’d risked his life to save her, to give her the gift of a life with one of the best men in the world and she’d thrown it away in less than six months. Not only that but she’d chosen something over Willa. It didn’t matter what it was because it was obvious John had given up so much in the last six years for her, including his pride.

Sherlock had too in a way. He might not have been so willing to risk his life and freedom to protect Mary if she hadn’t been pregnant at the time. He’d seen John’s face though, once the idea of a baby had settled in, and had known that he’d do anything to make sure that baby was safe.

“The next day was the last time Mary saw Willa, at least, that we know of.” John spoke, drawing Sherlock from his thoughts. “We spent a few months in a safe house until Mycroft felt we were safe back home. My first thought was that we couldn’t go back to that house, I wanted Willa to grow up here.”

“Has she tried to contact you or her?” Sherlock asked. Something about the way John had said ‘that we know of’ seemed wrong.

John gave a weak smile. “Yes, you’ll see in a few weeks. She sends a gift between Christmas and Willa’s birthday. The first year it was in the hall downstairs, last year it got delivered next door ‘by accident’ and they brought it over. Never the same way but it always comes.”

The state of Willa’s bedroom made sense now with all the information. John was no doubt terrified Mary would do something and take her away from him. Sherlock made a note to ask Mycroft about the gifts, he’d would have investigated them. Even if his brother hadn’t found out how the gifts were coming Sherlock was determined he would. He would then find Mary and remove her as a threat to John and Willa.

Sherlock stood and went to John who was leaning against the wall into the living room. “You would never let Mary do anything to hurt Willa and I will never let her do anything to hurt either of you.”

John let out a shaky breath before dropping his head forward. They were standing close enough that it came to rest on Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock was at first surprised at the contact but then wrapped one arm around John’s shoulders. “You’ve just spent six years in exile for me, before that you were dead for two years for me, and now you’re offering to protect my daughter. I don’t know how you ever believed you were a sociopath.” John said unsteadily and still he didn’t move.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because she might come off as a bit unbelievable with her intelligence feel like I should note Willa is based a bit off myself at 6yr old, I actually did learn how to read at 4.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have gone back and edited the prologue and ch 1. No content has changed but I cleaned up the wording and fixed some errors.

Sunday evening, after John had wrestled Willa out of the bathtub and into pajamas, Sherlock looked up at them and asked. “Can I take her up tonight?”

John had been expecting it. Sherlock had been especially demonstrative with his affection for her that day.

Sherlock had stayed the night on the sofa, not leaving as he normally did. Willa had awoken before John, her internal clock dragging her awake at six despite it being a weekend. John had woken just past nine and momentarily panicked when he realized she’d not come in and gotten him. Then he heard her and Sherlock in the kitchen.

When he’d gotten out Willa was sitting on the table watching as Sherlock made eggs, from the looks of it this was at least the second attempt at doing it.

“Daddy likes them over easy.” Willa informed Sherlock seriously.

Sherlock huffed. “Well, I’ve already broken the yolk. He’ll have to deal with scrambled.”

John laughed and Willa turned to him. “Any eggs I don’t have to make are just fine.”

A touch of pink crept up on Sherlock’s cheeks. “Your daughter insisted she was dying of starvation.”

“She does have a pesky habit of needing fed.” John agreed in a mock solemn voice.

“Sherlock’s making eggs. We’ll need more.” Willa informed John as she allowed herself to be lifted off the table and set on the floor.

“Only because you dropped the shell in.” Sherlock grumbled under his breath but Willa heard and cast him a sour look.

Breakfast had been lovely, not a bit of shell in the eggs John had gotten, and Willa had only managed to burn the toast slightly

The weather had turned mild and they’d gone for a walk. Sherlock allowed Willa to hold his hand across the streets. When they got back home Willa insisted on playing board games, John managed to avoid the disaster of Cluedo by finding the horrid Gooey Louie game he’d hidden. Sherlock made the most disgusted face when he read the back of the box which had sent Willa into peels of laughter.

After lunch she and Sherlock took a nap in front of the television, this time Willa was curled into Sherlock’s side. John joined them after tidying the kitchen. Curling up at the other end of the couch he fell asleep watching their chests rise and fall in sync.

The day had been so pleasant and terribly domestic feeling. John wondered over dinner if this was Sherlock’s way of reacting to the knowledge of what had happened with Mary. Or if he just felt more comfortable showing Willa affection after their conversation about babysitting. Whatever the reason it left a warm and pleasant feeling in John’s chest.

So when Sherlock asked to tuck Willa in he could only nod.

Willa was overjoyed at the prospect and drug Sherlock up the stairs by his hand. John lingered by the bottom of the steps just long enough to hear her begin explaining her nighttime routine. He turned and went down to Mrs. Hudson’s flat. She was in her dressing gown but it looked like John had caught her before the herbal soothers.

“John is everything alright?” She asked after opening her door.

John nodded. “Yep. I just wanted to check on something with you before I brought it up to Sherlock.

“Oh of course, come in I’ll make you a cuppa.” She turned making her way to the kitchen.

John chuckled and followed her. “Just regular thank you.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “That was one time, John Watson. I don’t make a habit of drugging people.” She scolded.

One night about three years ago John had ventured downstairs, monitor pulled up on his phone, just to check in with the older woman. By some mistake he’d ended up with her cup of tea and that had erased any doubts he’d had that it contained a healthy dose of cannabis. Truthfully he’d slept better than night than he had for years prior but it was still worth teasing her over.

He sat at her table and accepted the tea, and biscuits she insisted went with everything.

“No what’s on your mind dear?” She asked sitting across from him.

“I know I’ve asked you to watch Willa this week but would you be too upset if I said I wanted to ask Sherlock?”

Willa was off for Christmas break starting the next day. The original plan was that she’d spend the days John worked downstairs with Mrs. Hudson but he’d been considering asking Sherlock and after last night he knew he had to.

She laughed at him and reached over to pat his hand. “Of course not. It’s not like I can’t just pop upstairs for a visit with her.”

John nodded in agreement and chewed a biscuit thoughtfully. “I think he’ll agree to at least tomorrow but I’m not sure about Wednesday or next week.”

“You’re not giving him enough credit John.” Mrs. Hudson tutted at him.

John smiled wryly. “Or maybe I’m giving Willa too much.”

She scoffed. “The girl is hardly a heathen, dear. I put up with her just fine.”

“True, but you’re also a saint who’s put up with Sherlock and I for over a decade.”

Mrs. Hudson nodded. “That’s true. But you two could always repay me by making each other happy.”

“It’s not-” Her hand shot up to silence him.

“Now I’m not suggesting anything, you two imply enough by yourselves.” She smiled placidly over her cup at him.

John felt his eyebrows raising. “What’s that mean?”

“He’s been gone over five years and you two pick up again like it wasn’t more than a week. When you two are apart you’re both broken and sad. You mourn like a widow when he leaves and need I remind you he fell into drugs again after your wedding.”

John sighed. She had a point, when laid out like that it did all sound suggestive.

“And besides. He’s moved back into the flat and I know for a fact there are only two bedrooms up there.” She smirked at him like the Cheshire cat.

“Oh now it’s not like that.” John protested. It wasn’t really. They shared a bed but they didn’t actually sleep in it at the same time.

“Whatever it is like, dear, just figure it out and stop all this silliness.” She informed him with a wave of her hand.

John finished his tea. “You are a terrible meddler, Mrs. Hudson.”

“It’s a gift.”

John took his cup to the sink before leaning down and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight.”

Sherlock was on the sofa, John’s laptop in his lap, when John got back upstairs.

“How was she?” John asked from the doorway.

“She’s named all of her dolls.” Sherlock answered.

John snickered. “So you’ve been introduced.”

Sherlock nodded grimacing. “Yes, it was painful.”

“So I’ve got a question for you.” John asked and sat in the rocking chair.

Sherlock hummed at him in response.

John gently began rocking the chair. “Willa starts Christmas break tomorrow and I’ve got work. I wondered if you’d watch her.”

Sherlock looked up and, despite their conversation the night before, seemed surprised. “Of course.” Was his answer though and he completed it with an eye roll.

“After Mary I didn’t leave her alone with anyone until the summer after she turned two. One night Greg and Molly showed up at the flat.” John began not sure why he was telling him this. “Greg threatened to drag me out in cuffs and Molly kept reassuring me she was perfectly capable watching a sleeping toddler. I did go eventually but I spent the entire night worrying about Willa.”

Greg had resolutely kept John at the pub for no less than three hours and valiantly put up with the fact that John literally had nothing to talk about other than Willa.

“I worried about the normal things. Like her waking up and being scared even though she knew Molly, of her getting hurt or sick but I also worried Mary would somehow know I wasn’t there and kidnap her.” John continued.

“John, I doubt she’ll show up tomorrow.” Sherlock said. He wasn’t irritated but rather was trying to assure John they would be fine.

That wasn’t what John was getting at, though he supposed it was a valid concern. The idea of Mary coming back into their lives was possibly one of John’s greatest nightmares.

John nodded. “I know and I know you’re more than capable of watching her. Just know I worry, I’ve always worried.”

~~~~~~

John only lingered a little longer than usual the next morning and before he knew it Sherlock found himself alone with Willa.

She was seated at the table eating breakfast, her hair had been messily pulled back by John so it wouldn’t dip into the milk when she ate. She seemed half asleep still, though she’d flashed Sherlock a huge smile when John told her who was staying with her today.

The entire day went well and John managed to only text twice and call once during his lunch break.

In the morning Willa played on the floor with her Legos until Sherlock could no longer stand the site of the nest that had become her hair. She then sat on the floor between his feet watching cartoons while he went at it with a brush. For lunch they went down to Speedy’s and let her have anything she wanted. In the afternoon he taught her how to start a fire with a battery and a gum wrapper, then proceeded to make her swear not to tell John. Willa was the one to suggest making dinner which was why John walked in the door to the two of them making pizza dough with half the kitchen covered in flour.

The pizza came out a little oddly shaped but it tasted just fine even to Sherlock.

“Since today seemed to go well are you able to watch her Wednesday and next week?” John inquired as they sat on the sofa in the evening. John was reading and Sherlock had curled up, nearly asleep when he posed the question.

“Yes.” Sherlock answered and stretched out so his feet were on John’s lap. John made a noise and swatted at them with his book but didn’t tell him to move.

The next day John was off.

He was highly amused, though he tried to hide it, that when he told Willa to brush her hair she took the spray and brush over to Sherlock. Sherlock brushed out her hair and while John was in the bathroom he looked up how to braid hair and managed a passable French braid. John could barely do neat pigtails and it wouldn’t due to have Mrs. Hudson being the only person in the building who could tame Willa’s hair.

John came out of the bathroom and did a double take at Willa. He turned his gaze to Sherlock with one eyebrow raised in question. Sherlock just rolled his eyes at the other man.

Wednesday morning came much the way Monday did but after breakfast Willa disappeared upstairs.

Sherlock left her to her own devises and settled onto the couch with John’s laptop. Lately he’d been browsing through the major crime headlines for the past six years and seeing which ones were still unsolved. He had a running list of which cases he wanted to see the files for, some of which he was certain he’d already solved. He needed to wait to get them until the flat downstairs was finished, there were a few particularly gruesome murders that Willa didn’t need to see.

Barely twenty-five minutes had passed when the sound of something shattering upstairs drew Sherlock’s attention from the newspaper archives. He flew up the stairs not even seconds later. Willa was sitting in the hall with something shattered at her feet.

She looked up at Sherlock with wide eyes, her hands were behind her back.

“Willa are you alright?” Sherlock asked.

She nodded but her lip wobbled slightly and she looked down at the floor.

“What happened?” He asked and immediately she began crying, tears flowing freely down her cheeks.

“Daddy’s present.” She got out eventually between sobs.

Sherlock looked at the mess on the floor properly and realized it was the remains of a tea cup. Sherlock was about to reassure her when he noticed she still hadn’t brought her hands out from behind her back.

“Willa did you hurt yourself?”

She nodded and slowly brought her hand out. There was blood covering her right palm, she even seemed surprised at the amount of blood.

Sherlock stepped around the broken cup and lifted her off the floor. She continued to sob into his shoulder as he carried her down the stairs and to the kitchen sink. He needed to assess what she’d done to her hand and it was easier to set her on the counter than fight with it in the bathroom.

She still had her hand cradled against her after he turned on the tap.

“Willa. I need to look at your hand to see if we need to call your daddy or not.” Sherlock said trying to sound calm. He wasn’t, which was ridiculous seeing as this was most definitely not a life-threatening injury. At most she would need stitches but just the thought of having to call John and tell him she’d gotten hurt while he was supposed to be watching her made Sherlock nauseous.

Willa allowed him to pull her hand away from her. She only hissed slightly when he ran it under the water.

Sherlock sighed in relief as he got a good look at her hand. No stitches necessary, just a long cut on the heel of her palm made worse because she’d been clenching her fist. She stopped crying after he’d cleaned it off and picked out a purple plaster.

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Sherlock asked as he sat in his chair and pulled her onto his lap.

She looked like she was about to cry again but nodded instead.

“Aunt Molly helped me paint a tea cup for daddy’s Christmas present.” Willa explained. “I hid it in my desk but I didn’t have a box for it. I was going to ask you but I tripped.” She did begin crying this time, burying her face in his chest.

Sherlock didn’t like Willa crying. She wasn’t a dramatic child who threw tantrums when she didn’t get her way so to have her sobbing on his lap was unacceptable.

“We’ll go out and get your father something else.” He winced after he’d said it, realizing it was the twenty-third and the shops would be mad.

Willa stopped sniffling instantly and looked up at him. “Really?”

Sherlock nodded against his better judgement. “Yes, you can pick out anything you want.”

She hiccoughed slightly. “Alright.

An hour later, after getting dressed and washing Willa’s face, Sherlock found himself with phone in hand waiting for Willa to get her coat on. He needed to warn John both about the cut and about the fact that they were leaving the flat for a while.

_Willa got a small cut on her hand. Fine now. We’re going out for a bit. -SH_

He sent the concise message just as she finished arguing with her zipper.

The shops were packed as expected and Sherlock immediately regretted the hasty promise he’d made to calm her down. Judging by the way she crowded against him and grabbed for his hand Willa was a little overwhelmed as well. Within two minutes four people had bumped into Willa while pressing past them. Sherlock growled at each one until realizing no one could see her despite the outrageous color of her coat. Leaning down and scooping her up he carried her between the shops.

“Better?” He asked and she nodded wrapping herself around him.

Once inside, where it was less crowded, he set her down again. Just as he did a text from John came through.

_The girl is a menace. Enjoy yourselves._

Sherlock immediately felt relieved, John wasn’t upset about the injury, though he doubted there was any way to enjoy oneself at a shopping centre two days before Christmas.

“Did you buy gifts yet?” Willa asked over her shoulder as she wandered among the items, looking.

Sherlock shook his head.

“Why not?” She ask turning to look at him.

“I don’t really like Christmas.” Sherlock felt that was a fair enough statement, Willa was old enough to know not everyone found the holidays as appealing as she did.

She hummed and nodded before continuing to walk. Sherlock followed her closely, there was still enough people she could easily disappear from view.

“Daddy doesn’t like Christmas either.” Willa said as they passed a pile of jumpers. Sherlock smirked knowing the association she had made, perhaps subconsciously.

“Why not?”

Willa shrugged a shoulder, barely visible under her thick coat. “It makes him sad. But he pretends he does because he knows I like it and Christmas is about making other people happy.”

Sherlock then found himself picking out gifts as they wandered from shop to shop. Willa (and John) were correct. There were very few people in his life that he cared to make happy and if buying them a few gifts a couple times a year did that it wasn’t like it was exactly a drain on his accounts. By the time an hour had passed he had found something for everyone, including Willa though he decided it would be best to brave the crowds the following day to get it.

Willa still hadn’t found a suitable replacement gift and Sherlock was frankly done with people.

 “Willa.” He said trying not to sound impatient. “Why did you decide on the tea cup in the first place?”

Willa chewed on her bottom lip. “Because daddy likes tea and Aunt Molly said made gifts can be more special than ones from the store.”

Sherlock thought for a moment. “Would you like to paint a new cup?” He wondered why he hadn’t thought of it first.

Willa considered it. “Will it dry?”

Sherlock nodded. “By Christmas day, yes.”

“Is it okay?” She asked next clearly liking the idea.

“Of course it’s okay, we’ll just have to be careful this time.” Sherlock said relieved they would finally be leaving soon.

“Alright” Willa agreed.

They found a store and bought four cups just to ensure there were backups. The arts and crafts store was less crazy, most people who frequented the place had already finished their gifts.

By the time John got back home the original cup was swept up, the new cups painted and carefully hidden away in Mrs. Hudson’s flat. The table had been cleared and the only evidence of their afternoon craft was the paint brushes drying by the side of the sink. Only after Sherlock promised that he would personally do the baking of them the next day did Willa stopped fretting over it.

Willa was lying on the floor reading when John walked in. She held up her hand with the plaster. “I cut my hand.”

Sherlock pretended not to watch from behind his own book.

John nodded and hung up his coat. “Sherlock said, what happened?”

“I dropped a cup.” Willa answered turning a page.

“Willa, this is why you use your cups.” John scolded.

Sherlock glanced between them for a moment. “Actually, it was my fault. I gave it to her.”

Willa cast him a sideways glance from the floor, she hid her surprise well.

“Alright.” John sighed rolling his eyes slightly. “Just remember for next time.” John called over his shoulder as he went to the bedroom to change.

Willa was still watching Sherlock from the floor. “Why’d you do that?” She ask quietly after a moment.

Sherlock considered it for a moment. He’d been uncomfortable letting John scold her when she hadn’t really done anything wrong. “You didn’t need to be scolded.” He said simply.

Willa grinned at him like she’d just realized something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is definitely the slowest slow burn ever. Thank you for sticking with and I promise there will eventually Johnlock in here... eventually. 
> 
> It will move along after I get through the holiday stuff. 
> 
> Also I have some plans for the future for this but I'm deciding if I want to make this into a series or have just one monster story.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day? Only because I had finished Chapter five last night but was too tired to edit it.  
> Also brush your teeth this is mouth rotting fluff. I have no regrets.

“She still believes in Father Christmas.” Sherlock said in a low tone.

He’d just returned from settling Willa in her bed for the third time that night. It was Christmas Eve and she was so excited John wasn’t sure she’d ever get to sleep.

John rolled his eyes. “Yes she does and you won’t ruin it for her.”

Sherlock raised a single eyebrow perhaps not in challenge but in question.

John sighed and set down his book. “Sherlock. she’s not even six for god’s sake. This year Willa learned she was different from the other children her age. While she was learning multiplication and writing short stories they were struggling to learn to read. This is the one aspect in which she’s just like them, let her have this.” John explained.

Sherlock threw himself down in his own chair. “She’s so clever though.” He insisted.

John nodded. “She is and honestly I don’t think we’ll be doing this next year but tomorrow please just grin and bear it. It makes her happy.”

“And Christmas is about making other people happy.” Sherlock said quietly looking away.

John glanced at the other man in surprise.

They weren’t religious. John could go along with things like Father Christmas and the tooth fairy because they made the world seem more magical and good but shamming religious was a whole other level. So they celebrated a secular Christmas.

Willa had wanted to know why they were celebrating, though, and John had struggled to put into words what it was. She’d only been two that year but had already connected celebrations with large events. He’d settled on explaining that Christmas for them was a time of celebrating loved ones and focusing on the good in such a literal dark time of year. That they gave gifts to make the people they loved happy.

“That’s what Willa told me.” Sherlock explained likely sensing John’s confusion.

“Ah. Yes, that’s how she understands the season.” John agreed.

Sherlock was quiet for a while. “So what do you do?” He asked gesturing towards the tree.

John grabbed his mobile from his side and held it up. “I text Mycroft and gifts appear.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows could not possibly raise any further without joining his hairline. “My brother, why?”

John didn’t have a good reason for that. After Willa’s first Christmas it had become a tradition. “I think even if I didn’t let him play Father Christmas he’d buy her just as many gifts. Better she not realize Uncle Mycroft would buy her a small country if she asked.”

“He feels guilty.” Sherlock huffed folding his knees up to his chest.

It was John’s turn to look at the other man inquiringly.

“I was three when Mycroft imparted the wisdom upon me that it was all a fake.” Sherlock grumbled.

John turned his head so Sherlock wouldn’t see him smile though he knew the other man knew anyway. Sherlock distinct vehemence against Santa made sense now. He’d seen photos of Sherlock as a child during one of his few interactions with his parents. He could imagine that small boy who was already so intelligent feeling upset and betrayed when his elder brother, who he’d worshipped at the time, told him everyone had been lying to him. He knew Sherlock well enough to know that that hurt would have carried in to the future.

“I’m sure he does feel guilty about that but he was only a child himself Sherlock.” John reminded him gently.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m glad he did it.”

“No you weren’t, but this is different. Willa will figure it out on her own and she’ll understand it’s like a game.” John insisted.

Sherlock heaved a great sigh and threw up his arms in an extravagant gesture of defeat. “Fine I’ll keep quiet about it tomorrow.”

“Thank you. Willa will be thrilled.” John said and turned back to his book.

Just past midnight he confirmed Willa was indeed asleep and sent the text to Mycroft. Upon reaching the living room again John was confused to find more presents had appeared in the five minutes he’d been upstairs. Sherlock was standing by the table eating one of the cookies left out for Santa.

“Where’d those come from?” John asked as he took the second cookie.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at the new pile of presents and then turned back to John with an enigmatic grin. “Father Christmas.”

John growled playfully and bumped Sherlock’s shoulder with his own. He turned and looked at the living room, glad they’d cleaned in preparation. Christmas morning always seemed to resemble a bomb site so it was necessary to have a clean slate or else it would be March before John saw the rug again.

“Are you sleeping here tonight?” He asked eyeing the sofa.

Sherlock nodded. “Willa asked if I would, besides no one will be out tonight.”

John frowned. He’d taught her years ago that Santa didn’t come until everyone was tucked up in their bed. If she realized Sherlock slept on the sofa she’d be skeptical. “Alright uhm… Willa will ask questions if you sleep on the sofa so I’ll sleep in her room, you can have the bedroom.”

“Alright.” Sherlock agreed.

They waited up together until one of Mycroft’s minions began dragging in the presents. John felt sort of bad for the man and wondered if he had family that he wasn’t seeing because Mycroft had given him this job. He offered him a cup of tea (Sherlock had rolled his eyes and set about deducing the presents) before he left and the man seem surprised and grateful.

After he went John crept up the stairs quietly to Willa’s room. She was lying in the middle of her bed on her stomach clutching one of her dolls to her chest. He ended up having to shift her towards the wall and climb in on the edge. She slept heavily and didn’t notice the disturbance. He might have been a shorter man but the fit was still tight.

John was woken by Willa literally bouncing on his chest, the sun wasn’t even up yet. He groaned and fished his mobile out of his pocket. 6:12 mocked him on the screen. He groaned and grabbed her, rolling onto his side he forced her to lay with him for a moment.

After the third elbow to his ribs he realized there would be no convincing her to go back to sleep.

“Alright let’s go wake Sherlock.” He agreed finally.

She squealed and vaulted over his chest. John went after her as best he could, groaning at the pain in his back, he wondered if the floor would have been a better choice.

John laughed to himself when he reached downstairs and found the door to the hall door to the living room had been shut and the sliding doors from the kitchen had been pulled. Willa was already down the short hall to the bedroom. John was about to call out for her to knock but she’d already pushed open the door.

“Sherlock it’s Christmas.” She cheered darting into the room.

John cringed and moved faster. Willa had never woken Sherlock before. John had always been the one to do it given his reactions the first few times he’d done it. John had just never been willing to risk Sherlock accidently hurting her. She wouldn’t have understood.

Luckily today Sherlock simply whined and tried to roll away from the over eager child. John stood by the doorway and watch as she crawled onto the bed chasing him.

“Sherlock it’s _Christmas_.” She repeated yanking a pillow away from him.

Sherlock flopped onto his back and glared over at John. “Your daughter is an appalling alarm.”

“No, I think the problem is she’s rather good at it.” John disagreed.

Sherlock gave into Willa’s less than gentle nudging and got up. As soon as he’d grabbed his dressing gown Willa jumped off the bed and blew past John. John turned to see her skid to a stop in front of the sliding doors and begin bouncing impatiently.

“Is she like this every year?”

John startled. Sherlock was right behind him, leaning down to speak quietly into his ear. He swallowed harshly and nodded.

Pushing away from the door frame John cast a glance over his shoulder at Sherlock. “But you haven’t seen the best bit yet.”

John pulled out his mobile and then went over to join Willa by the doors. Once Sherlock was behind them he nodded at her.

Willa eagerly pushed a door open and dashed into the room. John followed quickly, shoving the second door to the side. Willa was stopped in the center of the room staring at the tree. On her face was a look of such pure joy that made John smile. He quickly took several photos because _this_ , the look on her face, was his absolute favorite part of Christmas.

~~~~~~

Sherlock had thought John was being sarcastic at first when he said they hadn’t seen the best part yet. He’d assumed she would go tearing into the room and pounce on the pile of presents he’d locked in the night before with the same fervor she’d used in waking him up. She didn’t though.

Once he saw Willa standing in front of the tree looking absolutely mesmerized by the supposed magic of it he understood John had been serious.

Sherlock was glad his phone was in hand and surreptitiously took a few pictures of Willa and one of John. Willa’s face of pure delight was rivaled only by the look of adoration on John’s as he watched her. They were both breathtaking and his heart fluttered almost uncomfortably in his chest.

Willa eventually broke the stillness of the moment by turning her head to John with a question in her eyes.

John nodded and only then did she jump into the pile like Sherlock had anticipated.

John went and sat in his chair to watch. Sherlock hesitated by in doorway before sitting on the arm of John’s chair, his own chair was too close to the action and facing entirely the wrong way. John seemed surprised for a moment but then relaxed back again.

Willa was sorting out the presents into four separate piles, one of which remained under the tree. Once she’d gone through everything she stood up and grabbed a gift from each of the smaller piles and carried them over to them. She placed one in John’s lap and the other she handed to Sherlock.

It was then that Sherlock realized she’d been sorting by person.

Sherlock recognized the box John was holding, he’d wrapped it after all.

Willa sat on the floor in front of them pulling her knees to her chest waiting, she had a present of her own by her side.

“Who shall go first?” John asked and Willa pursed her lips together as if thinking.

“Sherlock.” Was her decision.

Sherlock nodded and looked at the tag, it was from Willa. “Oh” he said not having expected a present from her.

Both Willa and John were looking up at him expectantly.

Sherlock peeled back the wrapping paper and found a mahogany box beneath. He looked up at John with a questioning glance. John just gave him a knowing smile and nodded to the present.

Inside the box was a brass cylinder about 15 centimeters long. It took him a moment to realize what he was looking at. Once he did Sherlock grinned and pulled it out. It was a spyglass telescope that when extended went to about 35 centimeters. Looking through the lens Sherlock could tell it was fully functional. There was an inscription on the outer tube. 

_Be a pirate.  
Willa_

Sherlock looked up at Willa who was watching him carefully. Despite the fact that her face remained impassive he could see the anxiety of whether he liked the gift or not written in her eyes. He smiled at her.

“It’s lovely.”

She jumped up suddenly, her own gift forgotten, and threw herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug and buried her face in his chest. “Do you really like it?” She asked muffled by his clothes.

“Of course.” He reassured her and pat her hair. “How did you know I like pirates?”

She tilted her head up to look at him. “Daddy said you wanted to be a pirate once but you became a detective instead. I think being a pirate sounds more fun.”

Sherlock smiled and hugged her against him again, not missing the fact that John’s phone had reappeared and he was certainly taking their picture.

“Shall we open the rest?” He asked her after a moment.

By nine all of the gifts were opened and John stepped away to make them breakfast.

John had protested loudly when he opened his present from Sherlock, a new laptop, until both Sherlock and Willa chose to ignore him for several minutes. He hugged Willa until she complained when he opened the tea cups they had painted. She proudly told him Sherlock had helped her make them. John had leaned his head against his side and whispered a thanks, as Willa continued to open her gifts he didn’t move away.

Willa ended the morning with a healthy pile of things. Much of it was practical (shoes, clothes, a hat) but there were several toys as well including new board games she was no doubt going to wheedle Sherlock into playing with her. She was currently laying on the floor (or rather on the lining of wrapping paper) under a new blanket looking through one of the books she’d gotten from John.

Sherlock watched her and found he didn’t mind Christmas so much this year. He doubted he would ever love the holiday the way some people did but this year, with Willa and John safe and happy, it wasn’t so bad. The thought of his brother’s dinner loomed over his head threatening to break their tiny bubble of happiness.

After breakfast John coaxed Willa into the bedroom with him for a nap reminding her they would be out late that night. Sherlock cleaned the room and tried to make some organization out of Willa’s toys. After that was done he found he couldn’t focus on going through the newspaper archives.

He pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

_Who will be there? -SH_

Less than a minute later the phone rang. Unsurprisingly it was Mycroft.

“Just family.”

“Who exactly, Mycroft.” Sherlock said already irritated because his brother still wouldn’t just text like a normal person.

“Myself, Gregory, his two children, Mrs. Hudson, John and Willa. We invited Molly and Aaron but they’re in Ipswich visiting family. Can we expect you as well?”

“I don’t know. I’ll decide later.” Sherlock answered as he immediately hung up the phone.

At one he went into the bedroom to wake John and Willa, still unsure as to whether he wanted to go or not. Willa was laying half on John’s chest stretching out across the bed and John had a hand buried in her hair. Sherlock took a photo before gently shaking John’s free hand.

“Mmm, Sherlock what is it?” John asked groggily.

“Just past one.” Sherlock explained.

“Hmm.” John agreed but turned his head away, eyes still shut.

“John, Christmas dinner.” Sherlock reminded him.

Reluctantly John blinked awake. “I nearly forgot.” He confessed. He carefully untangled his hand from Willa’s hair and then shook her shoulder. “Willa.”

She groaned and tried to roll away from John.

“Not so fun is it?” John grumbled under his breath before shaking her again. “Come on Willa, we’ve got to get ready.”

Her eyes came open at that. “Uncle Mycroft’s?” She ask, her voice still heavy with sleep. She sounded more childish than Sherlock had ever heard her.

“Yes, Addison is there.” John reminded her as he sat up.

She turned her head and looked at Sherlock. She held up her arms. “Sherlock.” She said.

John turned his head into the pillow to suppress a chuckle, failing miserably.

“Yes Willa?” Sherlock asked.

She grunted and waved her arms about in the air.

“She’s asking you to carry her.” John explained after a moment, taking pity on him.

 “Bathroom, no further.” Sherlock informed her as he crossed the room and lifted her from the bed.

“My room.” She mumbled into his shoulder sounding suspiciously like she was going to fall asleep there.

Sherlock bounced her. “No.” He said as he carried her into the bathroom.

After she had left the bathroom and joined him in the kitchen he gave her a glass of juice. She still looked tired and he figured the sugar would help wake her up. She drank it quickly.

“Are you coming?” She ask as she finished.

Sherlock considered her for a moment. “Would you like me to?”

She nodded. “Daddy wants you there too.”

“I know.” Sherlock agreed because despite all of John’s reassurances that he didn’t have to go it was obvious the other man wanted him to.

“So will you?” She repeated.

“For you and John, yes.” He agreed finally.

Willa came back downstairs in a hunter green velvet dress, she was wearing black tights and black patent boots. She handed him a hair brush and her bag of hair ties before throwing herself down onto a kitchen chair.

“What do you want?” Sherlock asked as he began brushing her hair.

“Can you do a crown yet?” She asked tilting her head back.

Sherlock corrected her so she was looking down. “I can try.”

After Sherlock had learned how to braid her hair they’d discussed different types she thought he should learn. Her favorite was a braided crown. He hadn’t attempted it yet but knew roughly how it worked.

When John came out fifteen minutes later Sherlock was pushing the last of the pins into her hair. “Go look.” He instructed.

She jumped up and went into the bathroom.

“Ten years ago if someone had said Sherlock Holmes would one day willingly braid my daughters hair I would have asked them what drugs they’d taken.” John announced as he peered into the bathroom after her.

Willa gave a squeal of approval.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. “Ten years ago you thought I was in love with The Woman as well, so you’d be wrong on all accounts. Nothing new.”

“Ah yes that Christmas.” John remembered stepping around Willa into the kitchen. “And you weren’t?”

“Really, John? She was interesting, a puzzle and nothing more.” Sherlock informed him and went towards the bedroom to change.

Both John and Willa were dressed nicely. John had put on a maroon cardigan, that looked nearly identical to one he’d owned years ago, over a white shirt with black trousers. Sherlock didn’t really want to make an effort to dress nicely for Mycroft’s dinner but he had a feeling Willa and John would both have something to say about it if he didn’t.

He picked out a shirt of a similar red to John’s cardigan and his own pair of black trousers. As he did he lamented at the idea of having to move his things back out of the wardrobe space he had appropriated and down into the lower flat.

“A picture.” Mrs. Hudson exclaimed as soon as she popped out of her own flat after they’d gone down to get her.

John groaned. “Every year she insists on a Christmas day photo of Willa and I.” He whispered to Sherlock before setting down the bag of gifts.

Sherlock stood off to the side when she came back out with her camera. He was impressed at the high ended digital she possessed.

“Sherlock move closer, how am I to get a good picture if you’re all the way over there?” She tutted at him waving her hand as if it would make him move closer.

It wasn’t until Sherlock and John were standing shoulder to shoulder, Willa in front of them, that she finally stopped trying to push them closer.

“Perfect. Now everyone smile.”

Sherlock didn’t.

She made a threatening noise, lips pressed together and glared at him over the camera. “One more, smile everyone.”

“It’s best to just let her have this.” John whispered before plastering on his best photo smile.

Sherlock copied him and Mrs. Hudson seemed content for the moment.

“Alright now then, are we ready?” She asked as if she hadn’t been the one holding them up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaha in my outline I had originally planned on putting the Christmas dinner in this chapter. I'm an absolute failure at conciseness.  
> Did you know the newest version of word really does yell at you for "not using concise language" ? I get yelled at a lot.  
> Siiiiigh.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quiet literally the third version of this chapter. I don't know WHY it was so hard. This one managed to flow nicely once I got it started.

John had learned to look forward to Christmas dinner at Mycroft’s.

They hadn’t done it for Willa’s first Christmas. They’d had dinner together but it had been takeaway at Baker Street, John trying to convince his eleven-month old that rice was not the devil. Her second Christmas had been different. Mrs. Hudson had decided to stay in London and that had been the first Christmas Greg and Mycroft spent as a couple, though John didn’t know that at the time and to make things appear less odd Molly had been invited.

That was the year the tradition had begun.

Willa was in love with Mycroft’s estate. She was a city child through and through, thriving on the motion and the noise, but the large home and immaculate gardens captured her attention. Christmas made it even more spectacular. Mycroft was never showy or over the top about decoration but the whole place came alive with lights and warmth. Every year it looked like the front of a postcard.

Last year they’d ended up staying the night at the house because an unexpected storm had come in and the roads turned to ice.

John and Greg had bundled up the girls the next morning and dragged a reluctant David along and found a decent sledging hill on the grounds. Mycroft had eventually deigned to join them, bundled up against the elements in a way only he could manage. Greg then made the mistake of teaching the girls how to pack proper snowballs and the whole thing had devolved into a war. Even Mycroft had thrown some at John and Greg. Three adults, one teenager and two little girls had gone into the house that afternoon red faced and dripping with snow. The girls had curled up by the fire under a spare duvet and fell asleep while the adults shared a few fingers of brandy. Greg had even let David try a sip and the men pretended not to laugh at the face he pulled.

Willa had talked about it until June.

John had still felt the keen sense of something missing but good friends and family had dulled it to an ache.

When they arrived at the house he’d not been let down. Willa oohed and aahed over the lights twinkling at them from a distance. Mrs. Hudson had been the willing listener for the ride and was indulging in her chattering about how beautiful they were.

Sherlock seemed to grow more quiet and tense as they drew closer. John felt a pang of sympathy for him. The two Christmases they’d spent together hadn’t been exactly the best and from the sounds of it neither had been the ones they spent apart. He felt a bit guilty too. He’d had friends and family (who he’d only gained from knowing Sherlock) to help ease the sense of loss and absence but Sherlock had had only himself.

That was why John had been so pleased when Sherlock agreed to come with them. The thought of Sherlock spending another Christmas dinner alone had saddened him to the point he nearly canceled. The only thing that had stopped him was the fact that Willa would have been devastated.

Almost as soon as the car stopped Willa went racing out, Mrs. Hudson followed with surprising agility for a woman who’d had her hip replaced over the summer. John had gotten all the way outside of the car when he realized Sherlock was still sitting stone still in his seat.

He slid back in. “Sherlock, are you alright?”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open. “Of course. I’m fine.”

John nodded, he wondered if Sherlock knew how transparent he was being at that exact moment. He couldn’t resist reaching out in comfort. “It’ll be fine.” He said squeezing the other man’s knee reassuringly.

Sherlock nodded curtly.

John climbed out of the car and thankfully this time Sherlock followed.

They got through pleasantries easily enough. Sherlock was unusually reserved and Mycroft had thankfully sensed the reservation in his brother and restrained his usual nitpicking. David ignored everyone from beneath expensive headphones, immersed in his mobile. Willa had raced off with Addison the second they’d seen each other, echoes of giggles and squeals alerted the adults to where they were.

Addison was three years older than Willa. Greg had admitted one night at the pub she’d been an attempt to save his crumbling marriage after Sherlock had revealed his wife’s infidelities. Of course he hadn’t seen it that way at the time but he realized, in hindsight, that had been what she was. Addison had been in that stage where she was obsessed with baby dolls and babies when Willa was born and that had been the start of their friendship.

Dinner was never a disappointment. The spread laid out in the dining room seemed much more fitting to a party of twenty and not the eight they had. The food looked and smelled delicious, there was a little of everything and even Sherlock would have a hard time pretending to hate it all. They would certainly be going home with leftovers.

John was confused at first when they sat and Sherlock left a seat between them. When Willa came in though she seemed to instinctively know the place had been left for her. John wondered if they’d spoken about it because any other time she and Addison would have sat next to each other whispering and giggling throughout the entire meal. Addison even seemed confused at this change for a second before sitting across from her.

Sherlock finally began interacting with everyone during dinner, even managed to trade a few barbs with Mycroft, who instantly seemed relieved. Still he was nearly over attentive to Willa during the meal and John had to bite his tongue from scolding Sherlock when he cut her turkey for her. He recognized the gestures as an out from the conversation and figured there were far worse things Sherlock could do to distance himself when he was overwhelmed by what was going on in his brain.

Willa enjoyed the extra attention of course.

After dinner and dessert the girls disappeared again while the adults made their way into the sitting room. Mrs. Hudson found the piano bench instantly and showed off the Christmas tunes she remembered from her youth. Mycroft worked hard not to cringe when she hit an off note. John pretended not to see Greg’s hand caressing his thigh as a reward for his restraint.

At one point Sherlock made a strangled noise in his throat, that was when John realized he’d seen the gesture too and was no doubt desperately trying to delete it.

“Shall we get on with presents?” Greg asked a while later and stood to go fetch the girls.

“Must you be so disgusting?” Sherlock hissed at Mycroft once he’d gone.

David snorted from his chair, clearly the headphones weren’t as soundproof as they’d thought.

Mycroft’s nose immediately went up in the air and John rolled his eyes.

“This is my house, Sherlock, my husband happens to reside here as well. Besides you are not guiltless.” He said and looked pointedly down at Sherlock’s leg.

It was then that John realized at some point he’d put his hand on Sherlock’s leg. It was just above his knee and not nearly as intimate as the couple had been but it was intimate enough. John pulled his hand away and wondered when they’d started touching each other so casually again. Greg walking into the room saved him from any further embarrassment.

“I am sorry about this, mate.”

John was about to ask what he was apologizing for when Addison and Willa walked into the room, heads bent together. Addison was holding a mobile phone which seemed to be the point of focus. He immediately understood what the apology had been about.

“Addison got a mobile for Christmas.” Willa informed him pulling away from her friend.

John nodded. “Well that is certainly good for Addison.”

Greg sat back down next to Mycroft and looked sheepish. “Deb’s new job means she can’t pick them up after school and David’s got practice so apparently some days Addy’s been going home on her own.”

John understood and found he couldn’t judge too harshly.

“Daddy when can I get a phone?” Willa asked coming to a halt at his side.

“When you start going places without an adult around.” John told her.

Willa let out a noise and dramatically threw herself backwards across his legs so her head came to rest on one of Sherlock’s thighs. “So never.” She announced petulantly.

Sherlock turned his head but John saw the small smile.

“Exactly.” He agreed.

Willa made another noise of dissatisfaction.

“Willa why don’t you help Addison hand out the presents?” Mycroft called over, saving them from what might have been an epic sulk.

Reluctantly Willa rolled off their laps and went over to the tree.

The gifts for the adults were predictable at this point.

Mycroft got him several high-end jumpers and Greg got him two tickets to a rugby match, whereas John got Mycroft a tie that he hated to admit cost the price of one of his coats and a good bottle of whiskey for Greg. Mrs. Hudson received a new scarf and box of a variety of teas and she had made them baked goods that Greg immediately dove into and at one point unceremoniously shoved a cookie into Mycroft’s mouth while he protested.

Even Sherlock got a laugh out of that.

As beneath the tree emptied Mycroft stood and disappeared out of the room.

~~~~~~

Sherlock was nearly enjoying himself.

Dinner had been pleasant. It was interesting to watch Willa interact with another child. Addison might have been older but the girls were intellectually on the same page. Willa acted more childish around her, perhaps not feeling the pressure to keep up with adults. They made rude noises, dissolved into giggles and Willa had even pouted over the idea of never getting a mobile.

John’s hand on his leg had been comfortable right up until the moment Mycroft pointed it out. Sherlock blamed himself for that. He would never admit that the reason the hypocrisy of his statement had escaped him was because he hadn’t noticed the extra weight there. Now that it was gone and John was certainly keeping to his side of the sofa Sherlock missed it immensely.  

Mycroft reemerged with something hidden behind his back. “I felt this was an appropriate occasion and it saved me from having to find you a gift which you would no doubt toss out.”

He then held out a violin case towards him. Sherlock took it quickly and realized while the case was brand new the instrument inside wasn’t.

It was his old violin.

He’d had to leave it behind when he went into exile. He’d thought occasionally about buying a new one but it seemed an impractical expense and there was more than one occasion where he’d been forced to leave everything behind.

He stroked a finger over the gleaming wood.

It took a moment to realize everyone was watching him. Sherlock swallowed down the emotions he was feeling and looked at Mycroft with the hardest glare he could manage, which admittedly was pathetic.

“Yes, gifting me my own property, that is very you.” Even Sherlock knew there was no bite in his words.

Mycroft smiled and it was soft and caring, not at all like his normal smug grin, it made Sherlock uncomfortable to be at the receiving end.

“That’s a violin.” Willa said. She was standing in front of him looking into the case.

Sherlock nodded and carefully picked it up to show her. She was tentative to step forward until he reached out and pulled her closer.

“My favorite instrument.” He informed her.

Willa looked over it with wide eyes before she looked up at Sherlock. “Can you play for us? Daddy says you used to play all the time.”

Sherlock cast a glance over at John who suddenly found the arm of the sofa interesting, then he nodded. Willa beamed.

“What would you like?” He asked her sliding off the sofa to stand, already positioning the violin under his chin. The weight of the violin was so familiar and lovely he wanted to weep. Instead he focused on Willa.

She crawled into the space he had just vacated. “Good King Wenceslas.” She told him her tongue tripping over a few of the syllables.

Sherlock smiled and began.

The physical aspect of playing was nothing more than muscle memory. He played the song perfectly but to his own ear it lacked emotion. It wasn’t until three songs in, people giving suggestions as soon as he stopped playing, that he began to feel the music the way he used to. The look of admiration on John’s face as he played helped immensely.

Eventually Mrs. Hudson accompanied him on the piano and Mycroft made it through two songs before gingerly ushering her away and taking a seat.

Sherlock’s love of the violin was almost matched by Mycroft’s love of piano.

They played together for the first few songs and everyone was impressed. After breaking away from holiday songs Sherlock shot John a mischievous look. John nodded with a smirk. He broke away from the melody.

Mycroft gave as good as he got and they ended up nearly dueling one another. It was very reminiscent of their childhood spats while practicing their instruments. Even David, whom Sherlock had not seen give any interest to the evening, took of his headphones and sat up. Sherlock continued the escalation until it was so ridiculous everyone was laughing.

John was bent in half laughing, his entire face lit up with joy. He would have kept going forever but eventually his arms started to tire.

Mycroft threw his hands up in defeat, red faced from exertion but cheerful. Sherlock absolutely did _not_ look at Lestrade and see the look of lust in his eyes.

Instead he swept low into a bow and everyone applauded lively. When he straightened, Willa lunged off the couch at his legs.

“That was amazing Sherlock!” She told him with the same awe he’d seen early in the morning.

He felt more relaxed for the rest of the evening. John kept grinning and reaching over to squeeze his hand every few minutes.

At nine they bid everyone farewell and climbed back into the car. Sherlock kept the violin with him at his feet. Willa had gone in after him making John and Mrs. Hudson sit together. They were driving for only ten minutes when Sherlock felt the weight of her head on his arm, she’d fallen asleep.

He’d never had the opportunity to watch her sleep like this. She rarely napped and when she did he was usually joining her, not taking the time to study her.

Her eyelashes were light in color, matching her hair, but they were long and thick fluttering against her cheek. He’d noticed the light freckles on her cheek before but took stock of them again, they’d faded just a bit more since he’d come back to London with the effects of British winters. He wondered if she’d gotten the freckles on holiday, a day out in the sun where they were having so much fun John forgot to be compulsive about the sunscreen. She had mentioned once that John took her to the beach one year.

He decided right then in the cab they would go this summer.

No doubt he would get sunburnt and be miserable but it would be worth it to see her and John on holiday. They would go during a full moon so he could teach her the most about tidal schedules and sea life, while John would teach her how to build sand castles during the day. John’s tan would make a reappearance and Willa’s hair would lighten in the sun, her freckles darkening again. He was about to pull out his phone to check for the perfect date when the car pulled to a stop in front of the flat.

John helped Mrs. Hudson out first before sticking his head back in. His face went soft when he saw Willa asleep. Sherlock quickly handed him the violin case to ward off any attempts by John to carry her out of the car, he wouldn’t be able to do so without waking her.

Sherlock slid her into his lap and then climbed carefully out. She snuffled softly, burying her face in his coat before relaxing again. John hovered around them uncertainly before settling his hand on Sherlock’s lower back and unnecessarily guiding him into the building. Sherlock would never complain about it though.

Mrs. Hudson gave them a small funny little smile before disappearing into her flat.

Sherlock went straight to Willa’s room. John followed after them a few seconds later. Between the two of them they undressed her and got a nightgown on her without waking her. As Sherlock waited by the door watching John tuck her in and kiss her forehead he found himself with the desire to go over and kiss her forehead as well.

Downstairs Sherlock found his violin sitting in his chair. He desperately wanted to play it but he was loath to wake Willa. It was an odd feeling since he’d never cared before.

John was watching him from the doorway again. There was something on his mind obvious by the fact that every few seconds he would make false starts into the room.

“Wait I have one more gift.” John said eventually before disappearing.

Sherlock watched his disappearing back for a moment before shrugging off his coat. John still hadn’t returned by then so he went into the kitchen and filled the kettle for lack of anything better to do. He could see John through the doorway of the bedroom, standing still next to the bed looking down at something Sherlock couldn’t see.

Eventually he returned carrying a green metal lock box. Sherlock knew it was where he kept his handgun now, but he hadn’t looked inside. It was much larger than necessary to hold just a gun so he imagined there were other things kept inside of it.

“I know it’s stupid that I’ve been hanging onto this, especially since your back.” John said dropping the box onto the table with a thunk. “But I haven’t found the time to give it back to you.”

Slipping his hand into his pocket he pulled out a key and unlatched the box. He flipped open the lid quickly. Sherlock was right. The Sig Sauer rested on top, the clip lying next to it, but underneath were several beige folders probably containing important documents. That wasn’t what caught Sherlock’s attention though.

There was a cardboard box that necessitated the size of the container. It was about 25 centimeters high and 20 wide. There was no description on the box or any other indications of what might be inside.

It was this box that John lifted out and slid across the table towards Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled open the upper flap and gasped at what he saw inside.

“When we first met you said it was your friend.” John explained. Sherlock glanced up and saw that the other man had a faraway look on his face. “Mycroft had already rescued your violin. So I kept him because of what you said I think.”

“At the time, he was my friend.” Sherlock agreed drawing John back to now. “You were right when you said you were filling in for it but I think you should know that you do a much better job at being my friend.”

John smiled and swallowed harshly, Sherlock watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat during the motion. “Sometimes I’m not sure about that but thank you.” He then chuckled weakly. “Also we won’t even begin to delve into the psychological implications of naming a skull after yourself.”

Sherlock grinned at the little joke. “That would be for the best, I think.”

As he watched John struggle with the emotions he’d dragged up, Sherlock was filled with a similar compulsion to the one he’d had while helping tuck Willa in. He wanted to cross the room and kiss John.

He stepped back away from the table, and that thought, quickly. Now was not the time.

“I’m exhausted.” He announced.

John glanced behind him at the clock. “You know what? I had a nap earlier and I am too. Let me get changed and I’ll go on upstairs.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. You could barely walk this morning. I’ll take the sofa.”

John shook his head. “Seriously Sherlock I don’t know how you can sleep like that. The way you curl up isn’t natural.”

“Well then we can share the bed.” The words flew out of Sherlock’s mouth before he could stop them.

John’s impression of a fish was quite impressive.

“I mean we could stand here and argue all night or we can share the bed. It’s big enough.” Sherlock said desperately trying to sound casual.

John’s mouth finally shut but then his lips pursed together. He studied Sherlock for a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

Sherlock changed in the bathroom while John put the lock box away again. Once the door was shut he mentally started berating himself. He’d very nearly ruined the first decent Christmas he’d had in over a decade by not thinking, the one thing he claimed never to do. Luckily for him John assumed he was only able to see things from the objective point of view.

Once he finally worked up the nerve to leave the room he found John had already changed and was lying beneath the covers. Sherlock walked around to the empty side of the bed and slid beneath. Even though he could physically feel the tension in John the bed was warm and smelled wonderfully. He realized he really was tired.

After ten minutes of dozing, listening to John’s controlled breathing, Sherlock couldn’t take it any longer.

Tentatively he reached out a hand and rested it between John’s shoulders. “John, relax.” He said soothingly and rubbed his fingers in a gentle circle. Slowly the tension seeped away from the other man and he seemed to lean back, ever so slightly, into Sherlock’s touch. His breathing became more natural and then slipped deeper as he faded into sleep.

Sherlock followed him, still rubbing circles into his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you smell the impending Johnlock in here?  
> Also I had to throw in little Mystrade too since I love those cuties so much. 
> 
> Shhh, in my head the tucking in of Willa scene was reminiscent of the scene from the 1982 Annie. Sue me I can't help the fluff sometimes.
> 
> ALSO 'platonic' bed sharing. I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS TROPE.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A New Year's Eve chapter on New Year's eve? Yay me!
> 
> Just over 24 hours until S4 for me!
> 
> If I don't update tomorrow before 8:30 EST I doubt I will be updating before Tuesday. I will no doubt need time to process.  
> (why yes I am a drama queen)

John wasn’t sure what to make of the sleeping together incident. It certainly made his argument to Mrs. Hudson that it wasn’t ‘like that’ invalid since they actually did sleep in the bed at the same time. It wasn’t that John minded. Sherlock wasn’t a bad bedmate. He didn’t steal the covers or roll into John’s space, in fact the only contact they’d had all night was the light pressure of Sherlock’s fingers between his shoulder blades.

John’s only issue and the reason he’d been so tense when Sherlock came to bed was that he was worried about his own reactions. He’d been so tactile with Sherlock lately, to the point they both didn’t notice anymore, he worried if he’d be the one in Sherlock’s space. He didn’t want to make the other man uncomfortable.

Sherlock had been out of bed before he’d woken the next morning but the empty space was still warm. Neither man mentioned it and John decided just to go about their day as usual.

Willa, who rarely slept in, remained in bed past eight.

John had anticipated it. She’d had a long day and even after falling asleep in the cab she would be exhausted. If she got up at her normal time she’d just end up being a bear all day. He noticed though that at quarter past Sherlock began shooting concerned glances up the stairs. Then at 8:45 he went and stood at the bottom of them. Sherlock had never been around for one of Willa’s catch up days and was no doubt fretting about why the girl who was up at 6:30 nearly every morning was still in bed two hours later.

“She’s fine.” John called over to him as he sat in his chair reading the paper.

Sherlock nodded and came back into the living room.

He made it until 9:30 before standing again. John watched on, amused.

“I’m just going to…” Sherlock trailed off as he started climbing the stairs.

“You wake it you take it.” John called after him. His only response was a huff of derision.

Sure enough, twenty minutes later Sherlock came down carrying Willa who was still rubbing at her eyes.

Once again, he was struck by the scene of Sherlock Holmes taking care of a small child.

Ten years ago Sherlock had been coming off the end of a fairly intense danger night after believing The Woman to be dead. Despite Sherlock’s protests, he had cared about her, whether it was true affection or interest in the puzzle she presented it didn’t matter. Her ‘death’ had affected Sherlock. John had sat with him that night dealing with the emotional whiplash a hurt Sherlock could be. Never once did he imagine Sherlock could be this way.

Now he was pouring Coco Pops into the bowl second because he knew Willa hated when her cereal got too soggy before she could eat it all.

John worked the next week. It was longer hours and he even pulled extra days due to one of the doctor’s being away still and the fact that Friday was New Year’s Day.

Sherlock took to becoming the primary parent well. They only had takeaway one day during the week, the other days Sherlock and Willa made dinner together.

Molly called on Tuesday, she was back in London.

“So I was wondering what you were doing on Thursday?” She asked. John could faintly hear a saw in the background and wondered what Aaron was attempting to fix now.

“Nothing planned. I might keep Willa up to see in the new year.”

“Since I wasn’t able to see her on Christmas I was going to offer to watch Willa so you and Sherlock could have an evening out.” She offered.

John considered it. “I’d like that but I’ll need to check with Sherlock about it. I’ll let you know after I get home this evening.”

Sherlock and Willa were sitting at the table playing Operation when he got home.

“Molly called.” John said when it was Willa’s turn, he knew better than to interrupt Sherlock.

“Any interesting bodies?” Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes. “She’s not been in work this week. Actually, she offered to spend the evening with Willa on Thursday.”

Sherlock looked up confused.

“New Years Eve.” He reminded, watching as Willa managed to extract something from the game without setting off the buzzer

“Oh.” Sherlock said, finally with some recognition of the day. “If you want to go out I can-“

John raised a hand to cut him off. “Not the point. The point is for both of us to go out.”

“You want to go out On New Year’s Eve,” Sherlock said slowly as he slid the game towards himself. “With me?”

John wasn’t sure what was so difficult to grasp about it. “Well yes. But if you don’t want to I can tell her no.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you want me to tell her no or-”

Sherlock huffed at him. “Yes, let’s go out.”

“Alright then.” John agreed and pulled out his phone to text Molly.

Later that night he realized he might have asked Sherlock on a date, he wondered if Sherlock knew that when he agreed. John had been on six dates since his split with Mary, every single one had been a nightmare. One woman had actually left mid meal when he revealed he had a toddler at home, the others had either been insufferably boring or not someone he would ever consider bringing home to meet Willa. At this stage in his life he wasn’t dating just to date, if he was going to put the time and effort into a relationship it had better be one that lasted.

John worked a half day on Thursday, he was thankful. It kept his mind off the possible date he and Sherlock were going on. The furthest he’d gotten with planning was thinking they’d find the least packed pub and spend the evening there. By the time they’d agreed to go out on New Year’s Eve everything had already been booked, a pub was the best they would do.

John was debating what to wear, Sherlock was showering, when Willa came into the bedroom that afternoon. She had a look on her face like she wanted to talk.

“Yes?” He asked thumbing through his clothes.

“Can I stay up really late with Aunt Molly?” She asked.

“You can stay up until midnight if you don’t fall asleep first.” John agreed, so far she’d never made it.

“And can I have that drink?”

John knew what she was talking about thankfully. He’d introduced her to nonalcoholic champagne two years prior during her first attempt to make it to midnight. “Yes, I’ll show Molly where it is.”

She was quiet for a little then and John growing frustrated with his wardrobe pulled open another drawer.

“Are you going to kiss Sherlock?” She asked suddenly.

John would have swallowed his tongue if it were possible. He whirled around to look at her. She sat in the middle of the unmade bed, a picture of innocence.

“Why do you ask?” He said after regaining composure.

Willa shrugged and played with the duvet. “It’s in the films. You’re supposed to kiss the person you love at midnight.”

“You think I love Sherlock?”

Willa gave him the most pitying look he’d ever seen on her face.

“Right, stupid question.” John admitted in a low voice, aware Sherlock was only a room away. Thankfully the shower was still running.

“So will you?” She repeated.

“I…” He’d not thought about it. He’d been avoiding thinking of their maybe date for the past two days altogether. “I don’t know.”

Willa accepted the answer. “Uncle Mycroft gave Sherlock tickets when he was here for tea.”

John looked up at her in surprise again. He didn’t know Mycroft had been there and he had no idea what the tickets were about. “And what were they for?” He pried.

“I don’t know they weren’t speaking English.” She sounded utterly put out at the idea.

John laughed at the knowledge that Mycroft and Sherlock had resorting to speaking a different language in order to keep his daughter in the dark. “I think you’re not meant to be telling me this.”

She flopped back on the bed. “They didn’t say I couldn’t tell you, they just didn’t want me to know what they were for.”

She would no doubt be terrifying in her teenage years with that logic.

John continued to root through his drawers cursing himself for being nervous about tonight.

“Wear your black jeans.” Willa announced. She’d found one of John’s books on the bedside table and had it open. It was Tom Clancy’s ‘Against All Enemies’. John wasn’t sure if he should take it from her.

“Why would I take fashion advice from a five-year-old who insists stripes and polka dots are perfectly acceptable together?”

“Because I’m cute in stripes and polka dots.” Willa said in her matter-of-fact tone. “Sherlock likes those jeans, he looks at your bum a lot when you wear them.”

John choked which led to a violent coughing fit. Once he could stand without support he walked over to Willa and took the book out of her hand. “Alright, enough out of you. Go clean your room. And no more watching telly with Nana.”

Willa slid off the bed and cast him a dirty look in the mirror before trudging up to her room.

Sherlock came out a few minutes later dressed immaculately as ever in a fitted black suit. That didn’t help John since Sherlock wore them constantly.

“Are you getting ill? I heard you coughing?” He asked.

John shook his head. “I’m find just uh something in my throat.”

John ended up going with the black jeans and ignored his daughter’s look of smug triumph when she came back downstairs and saw.

Molly arrived with a canvas bag full of god knows what. “I can’t stay in that house too long. He’s so nervous he spent six hours arranging the clothes yesterday. Six!”

Sherlock looked up at her from where he was sitting in his chair with Willa in his lap, he’d been saying something to her.

John laughed. “He’s nervous which is perfectly normal for a dad-to-be, I was terrified. Once the baby is here he’ll have someone to direct all that energy towards.”

 “But did you spend six hours arranging the clothes?” Molly asked. She was smiling fondly so Aaron hadn’t managed to annoy her too much.

John shook his head and looked over at Willa. “I wasn’t really home…” he said carefully. He’d hidden from Mary and the pregnancy after she’d shot Sherlock, not sure if he’d forgive her. They’d only reconciled, or whatever it had been, during Christmas before he and Sherlock ran off to confront Magnussen.

Molly made a soft ‘oh’ when she understood. “Right, sorry. I- you know what? Don’t mind me.” She apologized and bustled over to Willa.

John showed Molly where he’d hidden the sparkling cider and kissed Willa once more before they left.

~~~~~~

Sherlock patted his pocket one last time before they stepped out of the house. He’d been reluctant to ask Mycroft for a favor but given that John had only asked about the evening on Tuesday, he’d needed certain strings pulled.

As he hailed a cab John stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “So any ideas of what to do tonight?”

Sherlock wondered what exactly Willa had picked up from Mycroft’s visit. “Dinner first” He said as the cab pulled up.

When he gave the instructions where to go John gaped. “The Northall? How did you manage that?”

Sherlock glared at John, just because he’d done it didn’t mean he was going to admit it out loud.

John understood instantly. “Right, stupid question.” Suddenly he giggled. “I seem to be saying that a lot today.”

Sherlock glanced over at him confused.

“Nothing, just Willa and I had a similar conversation earlier.” John admitted.

It turned out to be a booking for a five-course meal, Sherlock cursed his brother’s ability to get one in at him even while doing something nice.

He could tell John was uncomfortable at the beginning. Any familiarity with high end dining he’d once trained into John had disappeared in the last six years. He managed to keep John’s attention with conversation and soon the other man relaxed, Sherlock assumed the wine played a big part as well.

Sherlock found himself eating nearly everything that was served because if he ate John would smile at him.

By the time the main course arrived they’d only brought up Willa half a dozen times. Sherlock was counting and intentionally directing the conversation away from her. It was important to reinforce that they still had things to talk about other than the girl. Though any other time he’d be glad to talk about her for hours.

They spoke about their old cases alternating between the absurd and difficult things they’d done.

Sherlock told a few of his less traumatic experiences abroad. He was surprised to learn after one of his own stories that John had helped out with a few police cases three years ago. Apparently Lestrade had been at the end of his rope with the media and one of the cases, Mycroft was abroad on business, so he’d turned to John. They’d solved it in two weeks and John helped a few more times. He made a note to look for them in the paper.

By dessert Sherlock realized they were certainly on a date. He’d seen John Watson the lover in action years ago and recognized the treatment. It thrilled him immensely.

Despite what Mycroft and Irene had thought, Sherlock was no virgin. Yes, he was inexperience and unsure when it came to actual proper relationships and how to navigate them but physically he wasn’t. He’d given in and had to test out all the hype in university and of course there were more than a few nights where he made questionable choices while high. Mostly he learned that if a person did not stimulate him mentally they had a much more difficult time doing so sexually.

They still had time after they finished dinner before they needed to leave so they made their way to the bar. Sherlock, after remembering the feeling of John’s hand sliding on his thigh during John’s stag night, ordered them each a beer and two shots.

That night had the promise of going an entirely different direction than it had, namely the bedroom instead of a holding cell. When he’d been abroad sometimes he’d think about it and try to deduce how it might have gone if they’d not been interrupted. He hadn’t done it so much after returning to London. If John had called off the wedding Mary might have terminated the pregnancy when she found out and there would be no Willa.

Sherlock was more than willing to put up with the time lost for her.

As they finished their beers John was already melting into Sherlock’s side, uncaring about the crowd the way he might have while sober.

“We need to get going.” Sherlock leaned down and told him.

John looked up. “What are those tickets for?”

“Willa’s been talking.” Sherlock said amused, it confirmed his suspicions about Willa paying attention during Mycroft’s visit.

“Of course she has, have you met her?”

“You’ll see.” Sherlock told him enigmatically.

John groaned. “Alright, another shot quick before we leave? For warmth.”

Sherlock laughed. The fact that he had no desire to correct John’s assertions about alcohol and warmth might have attested to his own level of sobriety. “You don’t drink like this anymore.”

“That is true but it’s New Year’s Eve.” John agreed. “What’s the point in going out if you don’t get properly soused?”

Sherlock suddenly wanted to test something.

“Alright but you’re going to be a nightmare to get into bed tonight.” His voice was low and he spoke directly into John’s ear.

John flushed pleasantly and licked his lips, a success for Sherlock. “Alright I’ll go get them.”

One shot ended up being two each which was why Sherlock opted for a cab rather than walking.

A look of recognition and delight crept onto John’s face as the cab fought traffic to cross the Westminster Bridge and then turned left.

“The fireworks?” He asked turning to look at Sherlock with awe.

He nodded and produced the tickets he’d received that afternoon.

“I’ve never actually seen the fireworks like this.” John told him.

Sherlock had already known that. “This year is for you. Next year we’ll take Willa.”

John’s grin broke into a full smile. “I’d like that.”

Most of the people were already there, packed in on each other. Sherlock had been unwilling to stand and freeze just to get a decent spot. He had no shame in pushing through the people, dragging John behind him. Mycroft’s security was easy to spot from the way they quickly stepped forward and placated anyone he’d angered in doing so.

When they found a place to stand John crowded in against him mumbling something again about warmth.

Sherlock passed the time by making deductions about the people standing around them to John. He was in the middle of a deduction when the counting began and for once was happy to stop mid thought.

The fireworks went off louder than Sherlock had thought possible. He might have minded except for the look on John’s face. Somehow this man, who was well in his forties, managed to look like a child watching the first blooms of color unfurl above them. People around them were still calling out ‘Happy New Year’ when John tore his eyes away from the sky.

“Sherlock this is- thank you.” John said. He had to be yelling for Sherlock to hear him but his voice was soft.

He was preparing to say ‘you’re welcome’ or direct John’s attention back up to the sky when John did something surprising, even if it wasn’t exactly unexpected. John wrapped one gloved hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and hauled him down. He barely managed to keep from flailing at the sudden pull.

John’s lips were on his, then. They were cold from standing outside but soft against his own. He felt a sound escape his throat, thankfully drowned out by the noises around them, and then he remembered to kiss back. John pulled away minutely after he did.

“Happy New Year, Sherlock.” They were still close enough that their lips brushed when he spoke.

Sherlock’s lips curled into a smile. “Happy New Year, John.”

John pulled away further then, turning back to look up at the sky. His hand slid down from around Sherlock’s neck and his arm came to rest around his waist. Sherlock wrapped his own arm around John’s shoulder and tilted his face up to watch the fireworks.

John really was a nightmare to get into bed later that night only because he’d fallen asleep during the cab ride home. Sherlock was sober enough to direct him down the hall to the bedroom before thanking Molly for babysitting. She wished him a happy New Year as she left.

Once she was gone he fished John’s phone out of his coat pocket and pulled up the video feed from Willa’s room. After making sure she was sound asleep Sherlock went into the bedroom.

John was lying on the bed fully dressed, curled up on his side. Sherlock pulled off his shoes and threw the duvet over him before climbing in on his side. He was asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Much. Fluff.  
> On of my friends is actually in London right now and is actually going to see the fireworks. I'm beyond jealous and that *might* have played into this chapter some.  
> And yeaaah John might not be properly attired in jeans for NYE dinner at the Northall but I doubt anyone is going to say anything to someone showing up under a Mycroft Holmes reservation.
> 
> I am warning you: There will be drama and angst upcoming, I'm certainly not going to make it this easy for them.  
> I'm currently deciding which dramatic scenario will take place.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mild descriptions of light torture. No one is on the racks or anything but the geneva convention would not approve. 
> 
> Happy New Year everyone! I'm seriously hoping 2017 is a shitton better than 2016. I wrote this chapter while waiting for midnight.  
> *I'm currently plugging through chapter 10 and if I finish it before tonight I'll save it for tomorrow. The premier will either A) short circuit my brain and make me unable to write for at least 24 or B) inspire me to write out of sheer anger/joy/some emotion.

Willa was unreasonably chipper.

“I’m going to be six in four days.” She sang into the room as their wake-up call and only warning she was entering.

Sherlock groaned burying his head further under the pillow, he freed one hand and reached over to nudge John.

“Oh, good morning Sherlock.” Willa said as she crawled onto the bed over her father.

It was hard to tell if the pained noise John made was due to the hangover or if she’d kneed him somewhere, either way he was awake and this was his daughter.

Sherlock did not answer her and hoped John would soon retrieve his offspring and remove her from the room. John, however, did not move.

Small hands rested on Sherlock’s back before the pillow was snatched away. “I know you’re awake.” Willa told him leaning down so she was looking directly in his eyes.

Sherlock shut them. “John, your daughter is terrorizing me.”

“Daddy.” Willa turned so she was facing John, her small feet digging into Sherlock’s thighs. “I stayed up until midnight.”

John groaned. “Then _why_ are you up now?”

“It is 9:57.” Willa told them.

Sherlock lifted his head just enough to see the alarm clock on the nightstand. She was correct.

“Go get yourself breakfast.” John told her after his head had come up slightly, also checking the time.

Willa was already climbing back over him. “Can I have toast?”

“Yes.” John grunted guiding her off him.

Sherlock was about to settle back down to sleep when a finger firmly poked his arm. He opened his eyes to find John looking at him.

Sherlock was sure he was about to bring up the previous night when a noise that sounded suspiciously like a crash came from the kitchen. “Do you think that wise?” He asked.

John groaned. “No, probably not.” He then rolled out of the bed. “Don’t think you’re getting out of this.” He warned Sherlock and began peeling off his clothes from the previous night until he was down to his vest and pants.

He then turned and pointed at Sherlock accusingly. “You are the reason I have a hangover.”

Sherlock stared intently at John’s condemning finger. “I believe that might be due to the ‘shots for warmth’ and those were your idea.” He reminded John but rolled over to climb out of bed anyway.

By the time he too stripped down out of his old clothes and found his way into the kitchen, John had set out a glass of apple juice and paracetamol for Sherlock and was halfway through his own glass.

“Can I get a pony for my birthday?” Willa asked between bites of toast.

“No.” John told her sternly.

“A goat?”

“Certainly not.”

“A pig?”

“Willa Louise Watson you will be getting no farm animals for your birthday.” John snapped finally harsher than he usually would have, no doubt the headache was fraying on his nerves.

Willa was surprised and Sherlock downed his pills quickly. “Willa, go get your brush. Your hair is a mess.” He interrupted.

She glared at John again but complied with Sherlock, disappearing upstairs.

John sighed and leaned against the counter just as the toast popped up. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

Sherlock nodded. “You’ve got a headache.”

“Don’t rationalize my poor parenting, Sherlock.” John warned him and grabbed the butter dish a little more violently than necessary.

“Fine, you’re being an arse to your daughter and currently to me. Give me the butter and go shower until the medicine kicks in.” Sherlock said and reached over to take the butter from him without waiting.

“Fine. Don’t you feel like shit?” John asked releasing the dish to him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, instantly regretting it. “Of course I do, I’m just not being a prat about it.”

John grumbled something derogatory under his breath but walked away towards the bathroom.

Sherlock readied the toast and when Willa came down he handed it to her. “John has a headache.” He explained taking the hairbrush from her hand.

She nodded.

When John emerged from the shower Willa had finished her breakfast and had neat hair. Sherlock was lying on the sofa with a pillow over his face while she watched cartoons on the lowest possible volume.

John pushed aside his feet and sat at the end. “I feel better now, thank you.” He said contritely.

Sherlock pushed aside the pillow so he could see him with one eye.

“Why don’t you go shower.” John suggested gently pushing at his legs again.

He nodded and stood. As he brushed by John the other man grabbed his wrist. “I’m sorry for being an arse.”

Sherlock nodded and turned his hand so he was holding John’s wrist, his pulse jumped under Sherlock’s fingers. He squeezed gently before going to shower.

John and Willa were cuddled up on John’s chair when he came out, obviously John had apologized to her. She had her head resting on John’s chest watching the television while he stroked his fingers through her hair.

“I was thinking we could go for a walk.” John said as Sherlock opened the refrigerator looking for something to eat.

“Can we walk around the park?” Willa asked lifting her head.

John nodded.

Willa turned to look at Sherlock over her father’s shoulder. “Will you come with us?”

He nodded as well as he found grapes and pulled them out, they looked decent.

“Get your shoes then.” John told Willa and helped her slide off his lap.

Sherlock stole a bunch of grapes out of the bag and threw them in the sink under the tap. As he rinsed them he heard John come into the kitchen behind him. Then there was a hand on his lower back.

“Sherlock.” John began hesitantly.

Sherlock stepped away from John’s touch. “Your daughter is about to come around that corner, do you want to have this conversation now?”

John shook his head. “You’re right. Later?”

Sherlock could only nod and pull the grapes out from the sink. As he turned he pulled one off and held it out to John. “Eat or you’ll moan later.”

John opened his mouth and allowed Sherlock to pop it in. “What I want,” he said after swallowing. “is something terrible and greasy.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “You’ll only get heartburn.”

Willa rounded the corner with her boots on. “Can we go now?”

The streets weren’t very busy because of the holiday and John let go of Willa’s hand. They were walking close enough their shoulders brushed and Willa was a few paces in front of them, every so often glancing behind to make sure they were there.

There were a few more people in Regent’s park, mostly family out enjoying a walk together. There were a few people, Sherlock noted, making their way home undoubtedly from a night of sex. Sherlock nudged John and pointed out one such man.

John snickered but bumped into Sherlock. “Stop that.” He whispered

As they walked along the inner circle Willa ran ahead of them, used to the freedom here. John let her go as long as they could see the puff on the top of her hat bobbing in the distance. As they turned and took the path towards the boating lake Sherlock saw a man he’d seen earlier when exiting Baker Street.

That normally would not have raised any concern for Sherlock, after all he was dressed in runners’ leggings. It was the fact that he had a backpack on that raised suspicion. Not something one normally wore for a run.

_She sends a gift between Christmas and Willa’s birthday._

Willa was choosing the path and she darted towards a small bridge to cross the body of water. Once it was clear which way they were going the jogger picked up pace and darted ahead of them. Sherlock carefully controlled the urge to run forward as he passed Willa.

He passed without incident, only glancing down at her once, and then ran across the bridge.

As Sherlock picked up pace to close the gap between them and Willa, John subconsciously did as well.

They crossed the bridge and the jogger had turned left, this would be a true test to see if he was correct. Willa turned left as well but Sherlock grabbed John’s arm and steered them towards the right and back towards Baker Street.

“Willa this way.” He called over his shoulder.

She turned and then bolted in their direction grinning madly. She passed them in no time and as she did Sherlock saw the jogger change route as well.

“Willa come here.” He said quickly.

John, who had no doubt been suspicious when Sherlock changed their route, looked up in concern.

Sherlock leaned his head towards John and quietly said. “There’s a man following us.”

John tensed but Sherlock kept him moving forward with one hand on his arm.

“Willa come here please.” John called, his tone level.

She turned at her father’s voice and skipped back to them.

As he heard the jogger approach, his backpack bouncing noisily with his stride, Sherlock leaned down and picked Willa up.

“Take her home.” He whispered in John’s ear and tried to transfer her over.

John shook his head. “You come with us.”

The jogger passed them again and this time Sherlock turned to look at him. They made eye contact and instantly the man darted off towards the road, checking behind him once to look at them.

Sherlock knew he would have to chase after him now if he hoped to catch him but that would tip off Willa that something was wrong. So he pulled her back properly into his arms. “I’m cold let’s go see if Mrs. Hudson has tea on.” He suggested.

She frowned but nodded.

John was on full alert the entire walk back to the flat and Sherlock refused to let Willa down even when she asked. They both breathed a sigh of relief when they reached the inside of the building and Sherlock finally put Willa down.

She seemed unaware and bounced over to Mrs. Hudson’s door to knock.

John leaned over and whispered. “Should we call Mycroft?”

“No.”

“Why not?” John asked surprised.

“My brother’s men are obvious.” Sherlock hissed.

Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to open the door. “Oh good morning you three.”

John straightened up and plastered on his best ‘everything is fine’ smile. “Good morning, we were hoping to impose on you for tea.”

“Of course, come in.” She said and waved them in, Willa darted past her and John followed.

“I just need to pop upstairs for a moment.” Sherlock said with a smile.

John normally kept the key to his lock box taped to the top of the wardrobe. Sherlocked pulled out the gun and clip. After checking the clip was full he slid it into his pocket and the pistol into the back of his waistband.

He stopped at the front door on his way back down to the lower flat, he stepped outside for a moment and looked around. After reassuring himself there was no sign of the man he closed and locked the door.

The three of them were in the kitchen. John was by the stove messing with the kettle while Mrs. Hudson and Willa talked at the table about her upcoming birthday. Sherlock walked over to John.

“Give me the clip.” John whispered not even turning his head.

Sherlock was once again surprised at John’s ability to predict him.

“Give me the clip.” John repeated in the same low voice, turning his head to look at Sherlock. “I won’t have you running off to shoot someone without my permission.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but quickly slid the clip into John’s pocket from his own.

They spent the rest of the day hiding out in their own flat. Sherlock kept finding himself at the window keeping watch. Once Willa was in bed John pulled up the video feed on his laptop and set it on the desk.

“I wish you’d text Mycroft.” John said as he sat down, eyes never leaving the screen.

“His men are too obvious John, there were five with us last night.” Sherlock said absently from his place by the window.

John made a choking noise. “Last night?” He repeated.

“Yes.”

“Five of them?”

“Yes, John.”

“Oh hell, he knows now doesn’t he?”

“What? That you kissed me?” Sherlock asked turning from the window.

“Yes. Your brother now knows we bloody kissed.” John said before gritting his teeth.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “It didn’t bother you that a whole crowd saw us. Why does my brother knowing matter?”

This was not how Sherlock wanted to be having the conversation about their relationship.

John held up his hand and took a deep breath. “No. We’re both too anxious to be having this conversation right now.”

Sherlock nodded and turned back to the window. This was definitely not going the way he’d hoped.

“Sherlock.” John said suddenly behind him, his hand was resting lightly on his arm.

Sherlock turned slightly.

John’s face had softened. “I’m not upset with you or having second thoughts. Now is just not the time to be doing this.”

Sherlock nodded. “I understand.”

John smiled sadly. “You don’t.”

Then he leaned up and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. It was warmer than last night’s kiss and sweeter too.

When John pulled away he smiled for real this time. “Let’s get through to Willa’s birthday and then we’ll talk.”

Sherlock really did understand. Making a huge change to their relationship in the middle of fretting over whether this would be the year Mary reappeared wouldn’t do them any favors. He had waited nearly a decade, he could wait a few more days.

“It’s fine.” Sherlock reassured him. “Go to bed.”

John laughed. “It’s only 9:30.”

“And you’ve been exhausted all day.”

John nodded. “True. Are you coming to bed?”

Sherlock took note the way he phrased it and his pulse sped up. He shook his head. “No I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Alright. Just keep an eye on her?” John asked gesturing to the laptop.

That, Sherlock could agree to.

~~~~~~

John woke to the sound of someone shouting. It was the kind of wakeup call that had him on his feet in seconds, he ran from the bedroom into the living room just in time to hear the front door slam. Then his mobile began ringing.

“Call Mycroft.” Sherlock instructed as soon as he answered, it was obvious he was running.

“What? Why?” John asked flipping on the light.

“Someone was watching the flat.” _I’m chasing him_ was left unsaid.

“Where’s my gun?” John asked as he grabbed his jeans from the floor.

“I have it, the clip too.” Sherlock said. “Call my brother.”

The line went dead.

John cursed at the dead air for a moment then he ran for the stairs and up to Willa’s room. He found Greg’s number first. It rang three times.

“John?” Greg asked, he’d been asleep.

“I need Mycroft.” John said softly as he pushed open Willa’s door. She was sound asleep.

Closing the door he went and sat on the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, sheets rustled in the background.

“Just please give the phone to Mycroft.”

There was a muffled conversation and a moment later the phone changed hands. “John?”

“Your bloody brother is currently chasing someone through the streets with my gun.” John growled.

“What’s happened?” Mycroft asked instantly alert.

John took a deep breath. “Sherlock noticed someone at the park this morning but he knew he’d been made. He, or someone else, must have come back tonight and Sherlock was awake. He took my gun.”

Mycroft made a noise. “Why didn’t you call me about the park?”

“Sherlock felt you would scare anyone else away.”

“You enable him, John.” Mycroft nearly growled down the line, a surprising show of emotion.

“Yes, I do and I always have.” John snarled back.

“I’ll call you when I know something.” Mycroft said in a clipped tone before hanging up.

John dozed on the steps, acting as sentry to Willa’s room. Sometime later the front door opened.

John stood hoping it was Sherlock. Instead it was Greg’s face who appeared on the landing.

“You alright?” He asked and John shook his head.

“Mycroft’s looking for him, it’ll be fine.” Greg reassured him before turning into the kitchen.

John followed.

They sat in near silence for the next three excruciating hours until the sounds of Willa stirring upstairs drew his attention. John was going to strangle Sherlock the next time he saw him.

“Uncle Greg? Why are you here?” Willa asked as she came into the kitchen.

“I’m just here visiting your dad.” Greg said and went around the table to give her a hug.

It was after eight when the sound of heels on the stairs caught John’s attention. Anthea stood in the doorway and looked at John.

“You’re supposed to come with me.” She told him.

“What about Willa?” John asked even as he stood.

Anthea shook her head and then nodded to Greg.

“Now hold on.” Greg protested. “I’ve got work. I don’t mind going in late but I can’t just miss.”

Anthea rolled her eyes at her mobile. “Mr. Holmes assured me you could ‘handle it’.”

“That bloody…” Greg trailed off censoring himself for Willa.

John was torn but Greg waved him off. “Go I can handle it.” He relented.

“Be good for Uncle Greg.” John told Willa who was sitting at the desk watching them all intently.

They weren’t in the car long before it pulled up to a nondescript building. John followed Anthea inside. She strode past the doors into the lobby but John was stopped by security and frisked. Once he was allowed to pass he followed her into a lift.

“We were instructed to ensure you’re not armed.” She said not even looking up.

John sighed and the lift went down.

The doors opened into a grey cinderblock hall. Anthea led the way once again through the winding halls until coming to stop in front of one of the dozens of unmarked doors. She held open the door for John.

Mycroft stood in front of what John assumed was a one way mirror. There was a man on the other side handcuffed to a chair, his nose was broken and his left eye swollen shut. Sherlock stood in a corner his back to the mirror.

“Gregory is not with you?” Mycroft asked never taking his eyes from his brother.

“No, but he wasn’t pleased to be left behind.” John stepped up to the mirror.

Mycroft nodded. “That I can deal with, I’d rather him not see this.”

“He’s not stupid.”

This got Mycroft to turn. “Of course he isn’t but there is a difference between knowing what one’s partner is capable of, it is another entirely to see it. You and Gregory are both white knights always wanting to take the moral high ground.”

“Then why am I here?” John asked.

“Because this concerns your daughter and you would kill for her.” Mycroft leaned forward and turned on a small intercom.

John realized now that Sherlock was speaking.

“You made a grave mistake returning to Baker Street.” Sherlock warned venomously.

The man spat blood onto the floor.

“Who do you work for?” Sherlock asked stepping forward, he was holding something in his hands in front of him.

“Piss off.” The man spat.

John watched as Sherlock raised the object, which turned out to be a metal rod, and brought it swiftly down onto the man’s collar. The crunching of bone was audible through the speaker.

“Mycroft.” John hissed.

“His name is Hadeon Wolanski. Known ties to the Ukrainian Mafia. Previous charges for extortion, money laundering, and theft to name a few.” Mycroft recited handing over a paper to John.

“And he was near my home?” John asked surprised.

“He’s been in London seven years seemingly living a different life.” Mycroft admitted watching the interrogation.

“Why are we here?” John asked after reading over Hadeon’s sheet of priors.

Mycroft reached over and muted them again. “I am keeping my brother from killing this man. Your level of involvement is your own decision Captain Watson.”

John understood, Mycroft was allowing him the chance to interrogate the man himself.

“I will tell you, he was found carrying a gift to Willa from AGRA.” Mycroft said gesturing to a table behind them.

On the table was a small box wrapped in baby pink paper and tied up with a silver and pink bow, Mary’s signature style.

John looked from the present back to the sheet in hand and made his decision.

He slipped through the door and pulled it securely behind him. As he did Sherlock lowered the metal rod.

“You should leave.” Was all Sherlock said.

“Not a chance.” John said firmly.

Hadeon turned to look at him through his good eye. “Doctor Watson.”

John’s head snapped up to look at him. “Mr. Wolanksi.”

“I’ve only brought your daughter a gift.” Hadeon said before spitting out another mouthful of blood.

“Yes, and who sent the gift?” John asked crossing his arms over his chest.

“No one I’ve met.” Hadeon said evasively.

“Alright then, who do you work for?” John asked stepping forward.

Sherlock remained where he was, the metal rod held by his side.

Hadeon grinned as best he could with the broken nose and abused jaw. “No one.”

Sherlock let out a guttural growl and stepped forward raising the rod but Hadeon’s attentions were fixed on John.

“She’s such a pretty girl your daughter. Do you think the elder Holmes has managed to truly keep her safe? Or is mummy dearest still watching over her?”

John walked forward and rested his hand on Hadeon’s broken collarbone. “You left the Ukrainian Mafia for what? To be an errand boy for an assassin?”

Hadeon laughed until John dug his thumb in where the bone had split. “You really don’t know do you?” He gritted out.

“Are you sleeping with her or does she just pay well?” John growled pushing his thumb in further.

Hadeon let out a yell and tried to jerk away.

“You’ve made a mistake though, you’re the first connection we have to finding her and we will never let you go.” John told him and slammed his palm into the break before releasing the man.

Hadeon breathed heavily for a second before coming under control. “There was no risk until he came back.” He said jerking his head violently towards Sherlock. “Big brother has his fingers in too many pots, something is bound to burn.”

John glanced over at Sherlock and properly looked at him for the first time since entering the room. He realized he honestly couldn’t read him right now. It was disconcerting.

“Let’s leave this to someone else.” John said trying to catch Sherlock’s eye.

Sherlock looked at him before nodding, his posture relaxed. John stepped towards the door, it opened as he reached for it. As he went to step through a flash of metal caught his eye.

Sherlock brought the rod against Hadeon’s skull so viciously there would no doubt be a skull fracture; the man fell limp in his restraints. Only then did Sherlock turn and drop the weapon.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock said as he followed John through the door. “I doubt he’ll talk.”

Mycroft nodded, his lips were pressed tight together. “I agree but I will have _specialists_ come in and speak with him.”

Sherlock turned to John and he instantly looked normal again, except for the small spray of blood from the last blow across his cheeks. “Shall we go home?”

“Yes, but first you need to clean up.” John turned to Mycroft. “I’m assuming there’s a washroom around here?”

“Yes, this way.” Mycroft said and went out into the hall.

As John followed two men went in past them to guard the unconscious prisoner.

They followed Mycroft through the halls and into the lift, Sherlock was silent the entire time. When the lift stopped, back on the ground floor, Mycroft stepped out and gestured down a hall to where bathrooms were clearly marked.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him to them.

“Are you hurt?” John asked wetting a paper towel and bringing it up to clean Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes not meeting John’s.

John sighed. “I’m mad you took my gun and ran off. I’m mad you and your bloody brother made me wait six hours in the dark but I am not mad, upset or frankly bothered by what you did down there.”

“Every time he said Willa’s name I wanted to kill him.” Sherlock confessed, finally speaking.

John nodded knowingly. “You saw red and all you could think about was making him disappear so he could never even get to think about her again.”

It wasn’t a question but Sherlock nodded anyway. “I’ve interrogated dozens of people, John. Not once have I needed a handler, I knew my limits and never had any desire to step over them…”

“Until this time.” John finished as he wiped the last of the blood off Sherlock’s face.

“Why?” Sherlock said looking at him, he was genuinely confused.

John smiled and threw away the paper towel. “Because you love her.”

Sherlock still looked unsure. “But I love you and everything I’ve done over the last six years was to protect you. I have never wanted to cross those lines.”

John’s heart stuttered in his chest and it took him a moment to speak. “One of the first things I did when we met was shoot a man for you because you needed protecting. You were perfectly capable of doing it yourself but I knew the moment I saw you in that room that you wouldn’t. You would have killed yourself to prove a point.”

He took a step back and pressed a finger to Sherlock’s lips to silence any incoming protests about the cabbie and the pills. It was a never-ending argument. “It’s not exactly the same but Willa _can’t_ protect herself and you feel you have to do it for her.”

Sherlock digested this explanation for a moment and then nodded. “Did you love me then?”

John wasn’t surprised that Sherlock knew and wondered when he’d figured it out. He shook his head. “Infatuated yes but not in love, not yet.”

“Oh.” Was all Sherlock said and then he leaned down and kissed John.

It was only their third kiss but it was familiar and John realized he’d been craving it since their last. When Sherlock pulled away John fought the urge to haul him back down to him.

“We’re in a washroom.” Sherlock said gesturing around them.

John nodded and took a step back. “Right. Yes. Not the place.”

“After Willa’s birthday?” Sherlock asked sounding anxious.

“After her birthday.” John promised.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are certainly protagonists and generally are good men but neither of them are morally innocent. I will never portray them as all light and goodness because they aren't both of them have dark areas. 
> 
> There are also many places a parent (and face it at this point Sherlock is a parent as well as John) will go in defense of their child.
> 
>  
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	11. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I said in the last chapter that John wasn't morally innocent?  
> I LIED HE'S A FUCKING CINNAMON ROLL OF LIGHT AND GOODNESS AND WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING BAD. (seethes at the television)
> 
> Here is nearly 4,800 words of spite at Moffat and Gatiss. Funny how that kind of turned into fluff.

“What are we doing tomorrow?” Sherlock asked from the doorway of the bedroom.

John had been in bed for over an hour but the constant shifting told Sherlock he wasn’t asleep. John hadn’t slept the night prior either and the night before that had been when Sherlock had spotted Wolanski lingering around Baker street.

He knew John was fretting over what had happened but Wolanski hadn’t given anything of value up to Sherlock or Mycroft’s men. Just because Wolanski had a heavy criminal past didn’t mean this year was meant to be any different than the prior years where the present had just been left and currier disappeared.

“I’ve got work and Willa has school.” John rolled over to look at him.

John was dressed for bed in pants and a vest, his hair mussed by the sixty minutes of tossing and turning.

“Do you think it wise?” Sherlock was worrying too. Just because they had no proof this year was different didn’t mean he couldn’t stop imagining Mary taking Willa while she was out from under their protection.

John shrugged as best he could burrowed under the bedding. “We can’t coddle her, she doesn’t even know anything’s wrong.”

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. Willa had most certainly picked up that something was worrying them.

“Alright, she doesn’t know _what’s_ wrong.” John amended.

“I don’t think she should go.” Sherlock said finally entering the room and walking to John’s side of the bed. He was hesitant to assert his feelings on how John should parent Willa. 

“I know but it’s her first day back after break. She’ll want to see all her friends and talk about what they got for Christmas.” John sounded like he was trying to reason with himself as much as Sherlock.

Sherlock couldn’t help the distressed noise that ripped from his throat. He kneeled at John’s side of the bed to look at him better. “I don’t _want_ her to go.” He wondered when Sherlock Holmes had begun begging.

John reached out a hand and traced Sherlock’s cheeks. Sherlock relaxed into the warm pressure on his face, the intimate gestures were becoming more familiar between them. 

John sighed after a moment, his hand stilling. “Alright, you can ask her tomorrow if she’d like to stay home. You two can make her cupcakes or something.” John relented.

Sherlock instantly felt so relieved he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to John enthusiastically.

Kiss number seven.

Sherlock was counting them and he had created a list to hang on the door to John’s wing in his mind palace.

  1. Drunk at New Years, there were fireworks.
  2. You wanted to reassure me you weren’t having second thoughts.
  3. You had just watched me torture a man, I needed to know if you still wanted to be around me.
  4. I couldn’t leave Willa’s side even after she fell asleep. You wanted to reassure me she was safe.
  5. You were worrying so much I could see a new line forming. I had to stop you.
  6. You taught Willa how to say “I love you” in French. You looked at me every time you said “Je T’aime” even though your accent was horrible.
  7. You let me keep Willa home from school even though there was no good reason.



 

The kisses could all be described as chaste, Sherlock had yet to learn what John’s tongue tasted like. Despite his desire to learn everything there was to know there was no real passion in the kisses, they were just stolen moments to reassure each other. Sherlock could feel it though in John and knew how John the lover functioned. God help him when (when, Sherlock was determined, when) it was unleashed. While Sherlock had single minded determination, John was full of all-consuming heat.

Sherlock wondered if he’d ever stop counting. Maybe once they talked about whatever it was they needed to talk about.

“Make extra cupcakes for her birthday dinner.” John instructed as he settled back down into the bed, drawing his hand from Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nodded, not getting up from where he knelt. “Here?”

John nodded.

“Who?” Sherlock knew John usually had only a few people over for Willa’s birthday rather than throwing her a big party.

“Just family. Unfortunately, Addison and David are back with their mother but Molly and Aaron can make it, unless of course the birthmother goes into labour.” John told him and then hesitated. “Harry will come too.”

Sherlock’s gaze narrowed at the name. “Will she be sober?” He hadn’t even thought about Harry Watson since returning to London. His long-standing dislike of the woman had been hypocritical once but now Sherlock had been clean for years and would stay clean forever for John and Willa.

Harry barely managed six months of sobriety at a time and she was so spiteful towards John when she drank.

“Yes. She knows I’ll kick her out if she isn’t.” John said. “I know you don’t like her but she sees Willa three times a year and we’re the only family she has left. If she can stay sober for those three days I won’t keep her from knowing her niece a little.”

Sherlock wanted to point out that Harry would still have a wife if she had quit drinking. Clara had given her more than one chance even after he’d met John.

Instead he nodded curtly. “Alright but if she’s drunk-”

“You can toss her out on her arse.” John finished for him. Sherlock was satisfied and planned to do just that, even if she’d only had one glass of wine.

John grinned at him. “Now come sleep or go away.”

They’d been sharing the bed off and on since Christmas night. Sherlock had never shared a bed with another person before now that didn’t involve passing out after a drugs binge or sex, or both. He and John didn’t even touch, keeping to their own sides, but there was comfort in knowing he _could_ just reach out and touch John.

“I was thinking.” John said after Sherlock had risen, gone around to his side and gotten under the covers.

Sherlock hummed at him in recognition as he settled under the duvet.

“We need to go to the school together and put you on Willa’s contact papers.”

Sherlock’s eyes flew open. “So I can pick her up?” He asked after a moment.

“Well, yes but also I was thinking if you’d be willing we’d make you her second contact. In case of emergency or illness if they couldn’t reach me for whatever reason they’d call you.”  John said and Sherlock knew he was trying to desperately pass for casual.

To anyone else this might not have been a big deal, adding someone’s name onto your child’s school forms, but for them this was huge.

Sherlock knew there were four people, including John, who had authorization to take Willa from school. Even those three people had to meet with the head teacher and show some form of ID. John had told him he’d made it so even if he called or wrote a note to permit someone else, the school was still not allowed to release her. John was terrified that Mary would find a way to take her from the school.

Sherlock couldn’t resist moving closer to John, laying a hand on his arm. “I think that is a good idea.”

John let out a breath.

The next morning Willa agreed to stay home with him. Sherlock wasn’t sure if she’d recognized his need to keep her with him or if she honestly wanted to stay.

Sherlock even willingly went to the shop when he realized they’d need extra supplies for baking their cupcakes. Willa wanted strawberry cupcakes and Sherlock had spent over an hour the previous day looking for a recipe that used real strawberries. She was also insistent upon purple icing but regular sugar icing mixed with purple food dye would work.

When he got back John and Willa looked at him in a way that said they’d just been talking about him.

John was only a little late for work.

Sherlock took one look at the amount of flour required for the recipe and remembered the pizza dough incident. Thinking ahead he tied back Willa’s hair and put it up under a hat, this time John would no doubt make him scrub the flour from her hair.

As promised Sherlock explained the science of baking.

“Exothermic reaction?” He quizzed while painstakingly filling the cupcake liners.

“Releases heat.”

“Example?”

“Making ice cubes.”

“Endothermic?”

“Takes in heat.”

“Example?”

“Melting ice cubes.”

“Yes, but that’s too easy to guess at. What’s another?” Sherlock asked as he filled the last liner in this batch.

Willa looked thoughtful. “Evaporating water.”

Pleased with her second example Sherlock nodded. “Based off of that knowledge which one occurs while baking a cake?”

“Endothermic.” She answered, delighted she knew the answer.

“Correct.” Sherlock agreed and then handed her the sealed box of baking soda. They proceeded to discuss what effect it would have on the texture of the cakes.

Sherlock was pleased by how much Willa was retaining from their impromptu lessons. She would be doing graduate chemistry before she reached secondary school if they kept up this way. He was also certain that between himself, John and her tutor (who he had yet to meet) they could successfully educate her without sending her to school.

He also knew John would never agree to it. John wanted her to have peer interactions, to learn how to mingle with those of different intelligence levels without being arrogant.

If Sherlock was being honest he knew Willa loved going to school in a way he never had. Sherlock had been different from the start even in the posh schools he’d attended and they’d mocked him for it. The only person Sherlock had ever considered a peer as a child had been Mycroft who’s intelligence and personality had set him apart as well.

Willa seemed to be liked by nearly everyone the way John was.

“Do you have cake on your birthday?” Willa asked from in front of the oven where she was watching the first dozen bake.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her back, wondering where that had come from.

“Uncle Mycroft said your birthday is a day after mine.” She told him not turning from her vigil.

“No I don’t.” Sherlock informed her and cursed his brother.

This got her to turn around in shock. “Why not?”

“I’m not that big a fan of cake.” He told her and received the most scandalous look he’d ever seen on her face. “I will eat one of your cupcakes however.” He reassured her.

She nodded. “What do you like on your birthday then?”

“Nothing really.”

“Nothing?” She pushed.

“I like cookies.” Sherlock offered. He remembered having cookies on his birthday as a child after the year he declared cake disgusting.

This seemed to satisfy Willa. “Good, everyone should have treats on their birthday.”

“I don’t really celebrate.” Sherlock said as he cleared the table.

“Why not?”

“Because my birthday isn’t important.” He hadn’t celebrated a birthday since the last one spent in his parent’s house.

Willa made a noise. “Daddy says if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have been born.”

Sherlock nearly dropped the dishes into the sink. “Why would he say that?”

Willa ignored him. “So if you hadn’t been born, I wouldn’t have been born and daddy would be very sad. That makes both of our birthdays special.”

Sherlock couldn’t find fault in that logic.

While still satisfied that he’d thought ahead to covering Willa’s hair Sherlock had not thought about his own. He showered while the fifth batch was in the oven, instructing Willa to alert him if it smelled like burning.

She’d rolled her eyes at him.

Sherlock was mostly convinced he’d gotten all of the flour out of his hair. He would have been washing Willa's hair out for days if he hadn't covered it.

After dressing he walked into the kitchen to check on the progress of their last batch of cupcakes. They still had a few minutes left in the oven.

He turned and realized his phone wasn’t on the counter where he’d left it. Sherlock was certain he’d put it there so it was mostly out of the danger zone that had been the table.

Walking into the living room he spotted his phone on the desk. Willa was curled up in his chair watching some nature documentary on the telly.

“Willa did you move my phone?” He asked striding across the room to retrieve it. Sure enough when he lifted it he could make out a series of small finger prints on the screen.

“Yes.” Willa answered not looking away from the television.

“Willa, my mobile isn’t a toy. Don’t touch it.” Sherlock warned, confused by her actions.

It wasn’t that Willa never got into trouble, though overall she was a very well behaved child, but she rarely did senseless things. When she disobeyed the rules she usually felt she had a valid reason, even if John didn’t agree with the reasoning.  

She looked at him then. “I didn’t want to spill juice on it.”

Sherlock looked back to the counter. There was one of Willa’s cups, half drank, near where his phone had been.

“Alright.” In a fit of paranoia, he opened his phone. No calls had been made and the last text sent was the one he’d sent to John before lunch asking him to pick up milk on his way home.

“What are you watching?” He asked lifting her out of the chair so he could sit. She then settled back into his lap.

“African lions.” She said, her eyes were glued to the television set. “Did you know that lions encourage their cubs to learn fighting by pretending to be hurt when they bite them?”

Sherlock looked down at her with a raised eyebrow. “Yes.” He said slowly.

Willa said nothing further on the subject so they watched until the alarm went off.

~~~~~~

John normally kept his phone face down on the desk so he knew when he got a call or text. Sherlock knew to call the office if there was an emergency so John didn’t need to keep it on his person.

By noon Sherlock had texted asking for more milk. John worried about the state of his kitchen once he realized there had been a full jug in the refrigerator when he’d left.

At 1:25 while John was between patients his phone vibrated with a text from Sherlock’s.

_He doesn’t like cake get cookies WLW_

John stared at the text for an inordinately long amount of time before realizing what he was looking at.

_Willa?_

_Yes WLW_

_Why are you on Sherlock’s phone?_

_For his birthday get cookies WLW_

_He’s nearly done washing up bye WLW_

John wasn’t sure if he was amused that Willa had not only absconded with Sherlock’s phone but she’d gotten into it to text him or terrified. There was also the matter where she was actually signing her texts the way Sherlock did.

He just shook his head and put the phone back down.

On the way home he stopped at the shops and picked up another jug of milk. Wandering over to the bakery he spotted a cookie cake. He found a chocolate chip one for Sherlock.

“Is this enough?” Sherlock asked when he got home. He looked nervous.

John’s lips twitched as he surveyed them. “Yes in fact we may be eating cupcakes for a week.”

Willa looked thoroughly pleased with this idea.

“I’m going to be six tomorrow.” She reminded them at dinner.

“Yes, and this time six years ago I was watching your heart beat on a monitor wondering if you’d ever come.” John informed her.

 Mary had been in the hospital for an hour at this point, having labored at home for nearly five. He’d been utterly useless and the only thing that calmed his nerves was watching Willa’s heart beat on the monitor.

John saw Sherlock look down at his plate in an effort to hide a look of sadness from them.

“What was I like?” Willa asked in between bites.

“You cried nonstop for the first two hours.” John said with a fond smile remembering how her angry squalls echoed in the room. 

“No I didn’t!” Willa protested obviously appalled at the idea she had ever cried that much.

John chuckled. “You did. In fact you cried so much I wanted to put you back but I was sadly informed I couldn’t.”

Willa stuck her tongue out at him.

“Really.” John insisted. “Tomorrow I’ll find the pictures of you and I right after you were born and show you. You cried in all of them.” He had a photo album in his bedroom of all the photos from Willa’s first four months that didn’t have Mary in them or had been easily cut out.

“Where was Sherlock?” Willa asked suddenly and John inhaled sharply. They’d always been very vague about where Sherlock had been for the last six years. Right now Willa didn’t need to know he’d been in exile for killing a man in order to protect her and John.

“Sherlock had left for his trip, we didn’t know you were going to be born so soon.” John said carefully, looking up at Sherlock who was watching them closely.

“Or else you would have stayed?” Willa directed this question at Sherlock.

Sherlock nodded. “Without a doubt.”

That night they both wanted to tuck Willa in, John smiled to hear Sherlock struggle to articulate as to why.

“Alright but I need you to go to my room and look for a book with two polar bears on it.” John said finally releasing Sherlock from his struggles. 

Sherlock shot him an odd look.

“It’s a children’s book, you’ll know what I mean when you see it.” John reassured him already halfway up the stairs.

In reality he knew exactly where the described book was and it wasn’t in their bedroom. He just needed Sherlock out of the room so he could reassure Willa he’d gotten Sherlock’s birthday cookie.

“I found a giant cookie at the store today.” He whispered to her as she crawled into bed.

Willa’s face lit up. “Did you hide it?”

“Under the celery in the veg crisper.” John told her with a wink as he went over to her desk and found the book he’d sent Sherlock on a wild goose chase for.

“Oh he’ll never look there.” She seemed proud of John’s underhandedness.

“I know.” John chuckled and she joined him.

There were footsteps on the stairs and John frantically shushed her.

“I couldn’t find the book.” Sherlock informed John as he got to the room. Crossing his arms over his chest.

“What?” John asked momentarily confused.

“The book. The book you asked for, I couldn’t find it.” Sherlock repeated and glared at John. He knew they were up to something but had no idea as to what.

“Oh yes. Sorry, I found it up here. I thought I’d taken it down with me last year.” John apologized, holding up the book.

Sherlock was confused when he saw it. It was a board book with two polar bears dancing on the front cover, not something that normally sat on Willa’s shelves anymore.

“Sit.” Willa instructed Sherlock when she saw his confused face, she patted the spot next to her on the bed.

Sherlock sat obediently and she snuggled into him. John badly wanted a picture.

Instead he cleared his throat and began reading. “On the night you were born, the moon smiled with such wonder that the stars peeked in to see you and the night wind whispered, ‘life will never be the same.’ Because there had never been anyone like you ever in the world…”

The book was soppy and full of imaginative writing about how the child was so important the wind whispered their name. Really not something John normally read to Willa, she understood the Earth didn’t revolve around her, but a bit of birthday sentimentality was to be indulged. John grew misty eyed, despite how he fought against it, half way through the book.

“Daddy always cries when reading this.” Willa tilted her head up and whispered into Sherlock’s ear loud enough John could hear. Sherlock chuckled.

John growled at them but kept reading.

Once he’d finished he couldn’t resist scooping her up into his arms and burying his face in her hair. He opened his eyes when he felt the bed shift, Sherlock was planning on leaving them to have their moment. John stopped him by reaching out and resting a hand on his knee. Sherlock froze.

“You need to stop growing.” John whispered into Willa’s hair.

Willa smiled. “I can’t.”

“I know but you should try, yeah?” John said choking back emotion. Sherlock’s fingers threaded with his.

“Alright.” She agreed and he hugged her tighter. 

When John was done, Sherlock hugged and kissed her good night before pulling the cover up over her.

John retreated into the hall and leaned against the rail fighting the sadness that made him want to cry. John gripped the bannister tight enough his knuckles turned white.

For nearly six years it had just been John and Willa. Sure they had a fantastic family who frequently dropped everything for them but for day to day it was just them. He could vividly remember the day she said her first word or the first time she’d read him a book without help. He’d never known watching someone grow could be this painful. 

Of course the stress and lack of sleep wasn’t helping any either.

Suddenly there were a pair of hands pulling him around and he found himself with his face buried in Sherlock’s shirt. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you think I’m being stupid.” He apologized

“I think you’re entitled to this.” Sherlock said and wrapped his arms around him.

The next morning John only felt mild embarrassment about his small breakdown over Willa’s birthday. He wasn’t sure if the stress and lack of sleep were entirely to blame or if he’d been this dramatic in previous years, except of course without and audience.

He didn’t have time to examine it much.

He loaded the cupcakes in a tray while Sherlock fixed her hair into another braided crown. She reminded them she was now six at least five times before they left the house. Because of the cupcakes they took a cab.

Willa led the way to her classroom at a strange pace halfway between a walk and a skip. She was terribly excited but trying to obey the school rules. John didn’t need to look at Sherlock to know he was analyzing every aspect of the school when they walked in. He did wonder what the other man was seeing and if he approved of John’s choice.

Willa’s teacher was waiting outside of the classroom as the students slowly trickled in, they were a little early.

“Hello, Mr. West.” Willa greeted as they reached the door.

Mr. West was in his late twenties and Willa adored him. The first two weeks after starting school she’d talked nearly nonstop about him. When John had met the man he’d understood. Mr. West was new enough to teaching, or had always had the luck of teaching in privileged schools, that he was full of energy and viewed everything as a fantastic lesson.

“Good morning, Willa.” Mr. West greeted her. “Are you feeling better today?” He asked.

Willa nodded even though John hadn’t told her he’d called her off sick. “It’s my birthday and we’ve made cupcakes.”

John held out the tray to her teacher. “Why yes you have.” Mr. West said sounding genuinely thrilled at the idea. The notion of feeding twenty first years cupcakes would have caused John to run in another direction.

“I promise they’re germ free.” John told him as he handed over the cupcakes.

Mr. West’s attention had been drawn over John’s shoulder.

“Oh… uh yes,” John said realizing Sherlock was behind him. “This is Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock this is Mr. West, Willa’s teacher.”

Mr. West shifted the cupcakes so he could extend a hand. “Mr. Holmes it is a pleasure to meet you. Willa has mentioned you.”

John could see the barely restrained gushing. Clearly Mr. West knew of Sherlock Holmes from sources other than Willa. From the way Sherlock stood just a bit taller as he shook the teacher’s hand he noticed it too.

“You’re Willa’s teacher then.” Sherlock said looking around the man into the classroom where Willa had gone. It looked just like a first-year classroom.

Mr. West became nervous, realizing Sherlock was scrutinizing his room. “Yes.”

“Are you her only teacher?” Sherlock pulled his head back to stare at him.

Mr. West shook his head. “Well, no. She does leave for special instruction twice a day because of her advanced academics. I also have a teachers aide.”

Sherlock turned to look at John. “I want to meet them.”

John was doing his best not to smile at Sherlock’s antics. “You can intimidate her other teachers later, today we’ve got to meet with the head teacher.”

Mr. West looked to John and relaxed. “Oh you’ve got a meeting with Doctor Drescher? Is everything alright?”

John nodded. “Yes, just need to add Sherlock to Willa’s file.”

“Doctor? What’s his doctorate in?” Sherlock asked suddenly derailed.

“Her.”

“What?”

“ _Her_ doctorate. She holds an EdD from the University of Bath.” John informed him.

“Oh wow, I guess the rumors were true.” Mr. West said as he watched the exchange.

Both Sherlock and John looked at him and the man paled realizing he’d spoken out loud.

“Doctor Watson I am so sorry, that was entirely inappropriate.” Mr. West apologized taking a step back towards his classroom looking like he wanted to hide.

John sighed. “Yes, it was, but we’ve really got to be going now.” He grabbed hold of Sherlock’s arm and dragged him down the hall.

Sherlock managed to sit through the entire meeting with Doctor Drescher without any incident. The fact that she offered to set up meetings between Willa’s other teachers and Sherlock (after John’s approval) helped immensely. 

John had always liked the woman. She was in her mid-fifties and ruled the school fairly. During their tour of the school she never asked why John had such strict policies about Willa and that had endeared her to him. Sherlock seemed to also appreciate her lack of prying into their situation, only asking necessary questions.

“What do we get a girl born two weeks after Christmas for her birthday?” John asked as they left the school.

“Books?” Sherlock suggested after thinking. “Or a telescope… both?”

John did a double take and stopped on the steps. “I’m sorry did you just suggest a telescope?”

Sherlock looked at him like he was an idiot. “Between the two of us we cover biology, anatomy, and chemistry well enough but astronomy is neither of our strong points and it could come in handy.”

John wondered if his face would soon hurt from the force of his grin. “You mean like while solving the case of a fake Vermeer?”

Sherlock threw up his arms and huffed loudly, turning back towards the street.

They did decide to go with Sherlock’s suggestion of the telescope. John nearly had a heart attack when the cashier rang it up.

Sherlock had, despite having no real grasp of the solar system, seemed to know exactly which telescope he wanted to purchase so John had left him to it and looked for books.

“Two hundred and fifty pounds.” John repeated back to the woman in shock, even as Sherlock was handing her a credit card.

She looked right past John and at Sherlock. “Would you like the two-year warranty?”

“Yes.”

“You just bought a six-year-old a two hundred and fifty pound telescope.” John said incredulously as they were leaving the store. Said telescope under Sherlock’s arm.

“It’s hardly an experts telescope John but if we want her to learn anything she’ll need decent equipment.” Sherlock said in an exasperated tone.

“Yes, but she’s _six_.”

“Would it make you feel better if I said it was half a present to myself?”  Sherlock asked hailing a cab.

John nodded. “Yes.”

“Well then John. I only spent a hundred and twenty-five pounds on half a telescope for Willa.” Sherlock smirked and slid into the car.

John cursed at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was horrifically Frankensteined to life. I edited it and it seems smooth to me but if it has weird transitions I apologize.
> 
> I'M CURRENTLY IN PAIN FROM LAST NIGHT STILL.
> 
> PS: The book John reads is "On the Night You Were Born" by Nancy Tillman. My husband hates it but I read it on the night before my kids' birthdays. I also cry every. single. time.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two for the price of one!
> 
> There's a reason I'm posting two chapters right now, namely the rating and tags have changed *points up*

When they got home Sherlock disappeared into the bedroom to assemble the telescope, which John hated to admit was pretty nice. They still had time before needing to pick Willa up from school, John cleaned the flat.

Once satisfied it was clean enough he went back into the bedroom.

The telescope was assembled and Sherlock was sitting on the floor looking through one of the astronomy books they’d purchased.

“You know those are meant to be for Willa’s birthday.” John teased nudging Sherlock’s leg with his toe.

“Hmm, yes and someone keeps telling everyone it’s my birthday as well so I feel entitled.” Sherlock said not moving from directly in John’s path.

“Actually, that’s not me.” John told him.

“I know, damn my brother.” Sherlock’s voice was flat which John knew meant he was paying more attention to the book than to him.

John stepped around him finally and went to the wardrobe to pick out a nicer outfit for tonight. There would be photos if he knew his sister and Mrs. Hudson well enough, which he did. He was thankful for his strict ‘no Willa on social media’ rule, otherwise there would have been hundreds of photos of him as well.

Finding an outfit he was content with John threw it on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He was in the middle of pulling his jumper over his head when Sherlock made a noise.

“John, I think it’s best if you stop.”

John managed to wrestle the fabric off himself, less than gracefully. “What? Why?

“Because I am not a patient man and I will not be held accountable for what I do if you remove any more clothing.” Sherlock warned him with a carefully neutral tone.

John turned to look at Sherlock in disbelief. The other man was staring so intensely at the book that John was surprised it hadn’t caught fire yet.

“Er, right I’ll just go into the bathroom then.” John agreed gathering up his clothing.

Once in the bathroom with the door shut John leaned against the sink and took a deep breath. He questioned what the hell he was getting himself into, even if he knew he doubted he wouldn’t go through with it.

It wasn’t that Sherlock was a man, it might have been years and years ago but John knew more than what to expect from that. It was the fact that Sherlock was _Sherlock_. There had been such a level of determination under that warning that John truly wondered what he’d be like when things were settled enough they moved in that direction.

He’d thought about sex with Sherlock before. Hell, he’d had a sex dream about him the night he moved in over a decade ago. During the incident with The Woman John had doubted her and Mycroft’s constant assertions that Sherlock was a virgin. He just didn’t know how experienced he was.

John took another steadying breath and changed. When he left the bathroom Sherlock had obviously composed himself and was reabsorbed in the book.

As the time drew near to get Willa from school John went back into the bedroom. Sherlock had moved onto another book.

“How would you like to use your new power?”

Sherlock hummed at him.

“Sherlock, do you want to go get Willa from school?” John asked plainly.

This got Sherlock’s attention and he snapped the book shut. “Yes.”

“I’m going to stay home and order the Chinese for her dinner.” John said smiling at how eager Sherlock was to pick her up.

Sherlock brushed by him. “Get her the spring rolls, she likes those though who knows why.”

“I know.” John said and followed him out, shutting the door to hide the telescope.

“And the shrimp lo mein.” Sherlock continued as he put on his coat.

“I know.” John repeated.

“And-”

John held up a hand. “Sherlock I’ve been feeding her almost successfully for six years now. I _know_. Is there anything special you want?”

Sherlock shook his head hard enough his curls bounced and then left.

John had his mobile out and was thumbing through the contacts when Sherlock barged in through the door to the kitchen. He seized John by the shoulders and kissed him hard.

“Thank you.” He said and then disappeared leaving John to shake his head while chuckling to himself.

He did order the Chinese and set a delivery time for six. He always felt bad enough when ordering for a party of people that he called in advanced.

Then he grabbed Sherlock’s birthday cookie out of the refrigerator and carefully piped ‘Happy Birthday Sherlock’ onto it with chocolate frosting. He placed it back where it had been only fifteen minutes before Sherlock and Willa made it home.

Molly and Aaron arrived first at nearly five. Greg was next but he was alone, Willa looked about ready to cry until he reassured her Mycroft would be there before dinner. Mrs. Hudson was next, coming right up from wherever she’d been shopping, gift bag in hand.

Harry came at nearly five thirty.

John hugged her downstairs and didn’t smell any booze so he allowed her up to the landing. Sherlock was looming over head, arms crossed trying to make himself look more imposing.

“Harriet, I’m glad you could come.” Sherlock said with false sweetness, intentionally using her name to grate on her.

Harry noticed this too. “Sherlock, I thought you were off dying somewhere.” She spat back.

“Harry.” John hissed. “Willa is right up the stairs.”

Harry had the decency to look contrite. “Sorry, John. I’ll just go on up shall I?”

John looked up at Sherlock who very reluctantly nodded and stepped aside. “Yes, she’s in the living room.”

John stopped on the landing next to Sherlock. “Please don’t antagonize her all night.” He begged.

“I needed to hear her say more than two words strung together.” Sherlock admitted.

“Sober?”

Sherlock nodded. “Last drink was last night, probably just before midnight.”

The front door opened again and Sherlock let out a gleeful sound and bounded down the stairs, skipping the three at the bottom, leaving John standing there confused.

He was even more confused when he saw Mycroft standing with his face twisted into a grimace. Sherlock was _never_ pleased to see his brother.

Then John noticed it in Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock that’s a cat.” John said looking at the ball of white and grey fluff snuggled up against Sherlock’s chest.

“Oh very good, John.” Sherlock said.

He was using sarcasm suddenly, protecting himself against something. That’s when it made sense.

“Sherlock.” John let out as a warning rumble.

Mycroft slid past his brother. “I will leave you two to your domestic.” He nearly ran up the stairs.

“Sherlock _why_ do you have a cat?” John asked sternly.

“Use your brain, John.” Sherlock snapped in a low voice. Oh yes, he was guarding himself against John.

“No. Stop.” John warned raising a hand. “Don’t you start this with me. Not right now. _Why_ do you have a cat?”

Sherlock glared at him full of defiance. “You have no allergies, I have no allergies, Willa’s last tests show no pet allergies and I’ve asked Mrs. Hudson already.”

John made a mental note to ask how exactly Sherlock got hold of Willa’s last round of allergy testing. “But you didn’t ask me.” He insisted.

Sherlock cuddled the kitten higher on his chest. “It’s better to seek forgiveness than to ask permission.”

John sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“He’s a pure bread blue point Siamese. He’s already been neutered and had his first shots, he’s litter trained. His parents have excellent health histories as do all of their litters, so he’s likely to live until she’s sixteen or even longer. They’re a very intelligent breed, playful, and they don’t shed a lot.” Sherlock argued quickly like he was afraid to let John speak.

John paused when he realized how much thought Sherlock had put into this kitten.

“Who’s going to change the litter?” John asked after a moment.

“I will teach Willa and supervise, as with the feeding and the grooming.” Sherlock promised earnestly.

John sighed. “Where will we put the litter box?”

“At the bottom of the stairs leading to my work area. There’s another door to keep him out of the actual flat so we can put a cat door up top.”

It took John a bit to realize Sherlock was referring to 221C as his ‘work area’ instead of his new flat. This made him happier than he should have been with the man who just purchased a cat for Willa’s birthday without John’s permission.

“Alright.” John relented.

Sherlock look nearly as happy as Willa had at Christmas. “Really?”

John sighed loudly. “Yes, fine.”

“Good, help me put this around his neck.” Sherlock said brandishing a blue collar with a bell out to John.

The kitten was surprisingly amenable to having a collar put around his neck. As soon as John fastened it Sherlock pulled out a blue bow roughly the size of the kitten’s head and fastened it to the back of the collar.

“I’ll go up and prepare her for your gift.” John said stepping back. The kitten was rather cute, with big blue eyes that were looking around the hall.

John went up the stairs ahead of Sherlock. Willa was standing in front of the fire place while Harry took pictures of her, she was looking bored.

“Willa sit down. You’re getting your first present a bit early.” John told her and stood in the doorway while she complied, happy to get away from Harry’s picture taking.

Sherlock came to stand behind him. John could feel the kitten wiggling against his back

“Close your eyes, Willa.” Sherlock instructed.

Willa did, sinking further back into Sherlock’s chair. Once John was certain her eyes were properly shut he came into the room.

Molly let out a gasp when she saw what Sherlock was holding but John held a finger up to his lips while pulling out his phone.

Sherlock went to Willa and knelt in front of her. Gently he placed the kitten into her lap. “Alright open your eyes.”

Willa did and they instantly dropped down to the ball of fur on her. She let out a gasp. “Oh my gosh.” She said in such a reverent tone. John thumbed the shutter button on his phone repeatedly, heard several other phones doing the same thing.

While somehow being careful of the kitten in her lap she bent forward and wrapped her arms around Sherlock’s neck pulling him into a huge hug. Sherlock was grinning.

“Thank you, Sherlock. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Willa repeated, she was obviously trying not to squeal for fear of spooking the kitten.

Sherlock pulled back and rested a hand on the kitten. “John and I thought you were ready for a pet. It’s not a goat but I think this will do.”

John was surprised to hear his name pulled into it. Willa’s eyes darted up to John and she beamed at him. “Thank you, daddy, this is the best gift _ever_.”

“Well he’ll need a name so you think on that.” John told her with a nod. Sherlock stood and walked over to him.

While everyone oohed and aahed over Willa and the kitten John looked up at Sherlock. “He was your gift.” He said quietly.

Sherlock shrugged. “You allowed me to give him to her.” He answered just as quietly.

“Oh come now we need a picture of the four of you.” Mrs. Hudson said as she came over to them and all but shoved them towards Willa.

They stood behind the chair and allowed everyone to take their pictures.

“Baron.” Willa announced.

“What?” John asked.

“The kitten. His name is Baron.” She said tilting her head back to look up at them.

John snorted and rolled his eyes at the ceiling while Sherlock’s face very nearly broke into a genuine smile, something he avoided in front of cameras.

“That has got to be the most British cat name I’ve ever heard.” He said to Sherlock.

They made the mistake of making eye contact then and they both broke into a fit of laughter.

~~~~~~

Sherlock hadn’t really known if John would allow the kitten to stay but he worked under the knowledge that John would do anything to keep his daughter happy.

He’d gotten the idea on New Year’s Day when Willa asked John for an assortment of farm animals. She’d told him later that they’d had a goldfish once and all she wanted was another pet so when John said no to one she’d ask for a different animal.

He spent most of the day working through his stress by looking at different cat breeds online.

He’d hesitated a little remembering the sting of losing Redbeard but cats lived longer than dogs, at sixteen or older Willa would be able to cope with losing her pet. Deciding on a Siamese was the easy part, locating a reputable breeder with a flawless history and kittens ready for homes was more of a challenge. He’d found a breeder in Cambridge with one male kitten who had been returned after a new owner’s allergy.

He’d gotten a great deal of joy out of forcing Mycroft to do the legwork in bringing Baron to the flat.

Willa was smitten, there was no other word for it. Even after the photos had been taken and they all settled back into their conversations she sat in the chair stroking him.

When dinner arrived Baron was enticed to jump from her lap to investigate the smells. Willa followed until John made her sit at the table. She spent the entire meal trying to watch the kitten explore.

There wasn’t enough room at the table, or even in the kitchen, for the nine of them so Sherlock stood in the living room eating. Molly joined him.

“So what do you think?” She asked and tipped her head towards her husband. “It is the first time you’ve met him and all.”

Aaron seemed to be a decent man and everyone else appeared to like him. He had a stable boring job, loved children to the point of volunteering with youth programs on the weekend and looked at Molly like she hung the moon. Sherlock had decided he was acceptable earlier when he made Willa laugh by performing some amateur magic trick.

“He was a good choice.”

Molly made a happy noise and looked visibly relieved as if she’d honestly expected Sherlock to tell her the slightly podgy accountant was secretly a murder. Then again it wouldn’t be the first time he’d told her something similar.

When it was time for cupcakes Sherlock pushed into the kitchen to help. He noticed John nodding at Willa behind his back while he argued the number 6 candle into the cake, it kept toppling.

“Oh for god sake’s, Sherlock.” John reached over and shoved the candle into the cake, it stayed this time.

When he turned around Willa was placing something at the table. Upon further inspection he groaned.

“No. You will sit next to her and pretend to enjoy this.” John whispered and pushed him over towards Willa.

“Do you like it?” She asked gesturing to the giant cookie sitting in the middle of the table.

“It was very thoughtful of you.” Sherlock said diplomatically. John sighed behind him.

“Now Willa has offered to share her party with Sherlock and since I know we’ll never pin him down to sing separately we’re just going to sing to them both.” John announced loudly and to everyone.

Sherlock scowled at Mycroft who simply smiled smugly back at him.

Willa sat on his lap through the frankly terrible singing. It made her irrationally happy and pleased John so he tolerated it.

There was cake, bits of cookie and presents. There was, however, a distinct lack of  beer or wine but Sherlock knew why and Harry was looking increasingly more agitated as the night went on.

Willa politely accepted her gifts but her eyes were always on Baron who was still exploring the first floor. She even managed to smile, albeit in a pained way, when Harry insisted she try on the hideous jumper she’d bought her. Sherlock wondered how upset John would be if he accidently lost it while cleaning up. Her birthday seemed to be heavy on books and clothes. Sherlock questioned if John had made the request given the frankly terrifying number of toys she’d gotten at Christmas.

Sherlock enjoyed her squeal of joy when John brought out the telescope and books. What he did not enjoy, though, was the twenty minutes of ribbing it caused everyone to give him. He glared at John the entire time to let him know he was not thrilled.

Harry left first, straight for a bar no doubt, followed by Molly and Aaron. Greg and Mycroft stayed just long enough to listen to Willa read them a chapter from one of the books they’d gifted her, Baron curled up in her lap as she read.

It was just past nine when Mrs. Hudson left.

“Is he really mine to keep?” Willa asked as Sherlock showed her how to measure out the dry cat food.

“Yes.”

She squealed again and threw herself at him for another hug. When she finished with him she nearly tackled John with the same level of enthusiasm.

They both put her to bed again, John didn’t feel compelled to read anything soppy but he laid down with her for a few minutes. Sherlock let them have their time and tonight John didn’t stop him from leaving.

He was just about to bin the terrible jumper when John came down.

“Oh thank god, I don’t even know where she got that thing.” John said upon seeing what he was doing.

Sherlock found himself wasting time even after John had gathered up the whiskey and sat in his chair.

“Sherlock I have work in the morning, if we’re talking you need to sit soon.” John called to him, seeing through his actions.

Sherlock went over and sat.

“Let me go first.” John began and handed him a glass of whiskey. “I’ll tell you what I need, expect and hope for and if you can live with those you tell me yours. Alright?”

Sherlock nodded.

John finished his own glass before speaking. “I’m not insulting your intelligence but I have to say it just so it’s been said. Willa comes first, she always has and always will for me, she’s the reason I agreed to get back together with Mary after she shot you.” John admitted, looking at his hands.

Sherlock had always thought the pregnancy had been why John had gone back to Mary.

John been so hurt and devastated when he found out what she’d done that he’d hidden himself away at Baker Street for months. Sherlock hadn’t been happy during that time but he had believed their marriage was over, until John announced he needed to give it an actual try.

“I expected as much.” Sherlock agreed.

“Right. Next for me then. Drugs. I know you’re clean now but I won’t ever tolerate her seeing you high. The same rule applies for you as it does for Harry, I will kick you out on your arse.” John looked him in the eyes as he spoke. Sherlock could tell he wasn’t bluffing, he really would throw him out.

Another rule Sherlock had expected. John had been understanding about Sherlock’s drug habits the first time around, hadn’t run from the flat when he found out he was moving in with a former addict. He sat with Sherlock all night when he needed.

That wasn’t to say he tolerated use in the slightest. He’d been so angry and disappointed when he found out Sherlock was using after their wedding. His words had done more damage than Molly’s slaps.

“The last time I used was July 30th, 2017.”

John gave him a small smile. “That’s good. Well, no, that’s actually fantastic.”

“Anything else?” Sherlock knew there was more.

John nodded. “Yes, and this is where I’m worried I’ll scare you off.”

Sherlock had serious doubts about that.

“This can’t be casual, Sherlock. If we go into this I have to know you’re willing to aim for long term. I normally wouldn’t ask this after one date and a handful of kisses but we’re different than that. You already know Willa which means she’ll be affected by our entire relationship start to finish. She doesn’t even know I’ve dated since she was born. I’d rather end it now than just be… I don’t know, an itch you scratch or an experiment, whatever. I won’t do casual like that because she will be affected.”

“Is that what you think this is?” Sherlock was more than a little hurt that John seemed to think that he would bore of him so easily. As if Sherlock, hadn’t been in love with him since before he faked his death.

John shook his head. “No, but I also proposed to a murdering psychopath. I’m not the best at reading people’s intentions when I’m in a relationship with them.”

“The pool where we met Moriarty.” Sherlock told him quietly.

“What?” John asked confused.

“I realized I was in love with you that night. When I thought you were him I felt like someone had stabbed me. Then when you were stupid enough to jump on his back I realized I would have rather died with you.” Sherlock had never planned on confessing this, it made him seem pathetic, but John got him to do hundreds of things he swore he’d never do.

John was speechless for a full two minutes.

“You… back then? I mean I wondered a little when you used to interrupt every one of my dates but I never… back then?” John stuttered out.

Sherlock nodded unable to look at him.

“Jesus we’re idiots.” John muttered. “Alright. Last three things. One: I will not magically become a doormat because we’re dating. I will still get pissed at you when you run off with my gun or when you buy Willa a kitten without asking me first.”

“Oh, but she loves him.” Sherlock insisted.

“Yes.” John agreed. “But you should have asked me first.  Two: we will sit down with Willa and explain we’re in a relationship. And three: This thing with Mary. It’s not over, it may never be over. We might be looking over our shoulders for her for the rest of our lives. I know you’ve been to hell and back for me already but I can’t make this go away.”

“One: You would be utterly dull if you gave in just because we were sleeping together. Two: I agree under the condition she is never allowed to call me your boyfriend. Partner should suffice.” Sherlock took a breath and then looked at John. “Three: I am promising you, I will end this.”

John nodded and refilled his glass. “Alright then. What are your terms?”

“I have one.” Sherlock warned him. “I won’t change and do not ask me to. Right now there are no cases, no labs, no puzzles and I can focus entirely on you two but soon the flat will be finished and I can take cases again. I will forget to come up for dinner, I’ll say cruel things to you because I’m stressed and I’ll spend days or weeks away from home on them.”

“You’ll let me know you’re okay though.” John interrupted.

“John.”

“No. A text, a telegram, a bloody billboard. Just one word so I know you’re alive.” John insisted. “I won’t spend days wondering if your dead. I’ve lived through that enough times now, thank you.”

“Alright.” Sherlock could agree to that.

“I’ll still fret over you. I’ll resort to low tactics and I won’t be above using Willa to get you to eat or sleep.” John told him.

“Nothing’s changed then.” Sherlock said and this provoked a grin from the other man.

“No, I guess not.”

“Can I kiss you now?” Sherlock asked leaning forward, hoping to make his intentions clear that this wouldn’t be a single kiss this time.

John’s eyes widened. “Wait. We need to talk about that too.” He held up his hand.

Sherlock slumped back in his chair.

“Since you’ve somehow gotten hold of my daughter’s medical records I assume you have mine from my last physical as well.” John said lowering his hand.

“For a physician, you don’t go nearly as often as you should.”

“Yes, doctor’s make the worst patients, thank you. I know.” John said ruefully.

“I assume what you’re trying not to ask is if I have any diseases.” Sherlock said bluntly, John just nodded. “You’re probably most concerned about hepatitis and HIV because of my former drug habit. I have never shared needles. I do not have documents to show you right now but the British government saw fit to relieve me of half of my blood supply before allowing me back into the country. I am clean.”

“I don’t need to see papers. You’re probably the only person I’d believe saying that to me.” John said.

“I’ll get them for you anyway.” Sherlock insisted because while John believed him he felt the need to prove it. “Also, I’m not a virgin”

John choked on the sip of whiskey he was trying to take. “Didn’t think that.” He gasped out between coughing fits.

“I felt I should tell you since everyone else around us seems to think I’m asexual.”

“Well.” John said once he’d started breathing normally again. “That’s cleared then.”

Sherlock leaned forward once more. “Now?”

John nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. I'm just gunna say adopt don't shop. All of my animals are rescues but do I honestly think Sherlock would do that? Probably not especially since he was obsessed with the idea of knowing the family health history of Baron.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. So sex... yeah.  
> If you choose not to read it won't affect your knowledge of the plot and I don't really blame you.  
> I ended up having to read some of my old fics to remind myself that I actually know how to write porn.  
> Not sure I succeeded.  
> PS: it's trash don't read it.

Sherlock was leaning over the chair almost as soon has John had given him permission but in that fraction of a second John went through a range of feelings. Trepidation, delight, worry and anticipation being the easiest to identify. Anticipation was the most prominent.

When Sherlock kissed him there was an immediate heat that had been missing from their previous kisses and John melted forward into it. It wasn’t rushed or frantic as he thought it would be. They were just kissing, softer and longer than before but it was very nearly the same. Right up until John’s tongue slid forward to taste Sherlock’s lower lip.

Sherlock’s lips tasted like whiskey and John chased the flavor further into his mouth. Sherlock let out a low sound and let him.

John sat straighter in the chair, Sherlock was still leaning over him, and he grabbed for his narrow hips and pulled until the other man’s knees gave. He slid to the floor between John’s legs, hands resting on his thighs.

It was easier to work into the kiss with Sherlock at this level and John’s hand came up and wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. When they finally parted, he kept his hand there, preventing Sherlock from moving too far away.

“No, don’t stop.” Sherlock muttered so low John wasn’t sure he knew he’d spoken. Then he chased after John’s lips again.

John was all too happy to comply until he became dizzy.

Sherlock made a noise in his throat that matched how John felt.

“I need oxygen, sometimes.” John whispered afraid that speaking would break the moment, though he doubted a bomb could by this point.

“Boring.” Sherlock informed him sounding more petulant than ever.

John chuckled. “I’m boring.”

“No, never.” Sherlock changed course now and was kissing along John’s jaw. John couldn’t help the sigh that escaped when he reached his neck, his head fell back giving Sherlock more room, fingers tangling in the dark hair.

“I want to taste all of you.” Sherlock whispered against his pulse point, tongue darting out to press against it.

John moaned and might have been embarrassed if he could bother to give a damn. “All of me?”

“Every last centimeter.” Sherlock confirmed kissing back towards his jaw.

“I’m agreeable to this.”

Sherlock hummed at the hinge of his jaw and that vibration traveled straight down his spine. “I think you might become less so when we get to your eyes.”

John laughed sharply. “Maybe some other time.” He promised.

“Good.” Sherlock growled, his lips finding John’s again.

It was when Sherlock’s hand slipped further up his thigh, thumb dragging along the seam of his jeans that John pulled away again. “Maybe not here.”

Sherlock looked almost confused.

John pointed towards the ceiling.

Sherlock’s eyes followed to where he was pointing. “Bedroom?” He asked.

“Oh god yes.” John breathed.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to him. They were suddenly dark, pupils blown wide. “Say it again.”

“What?” John asked confused.

Sherlock’s hand covered the gap to the top of his thigh. His thumb began gently rubbing circles along the shaft of John’s cock. John’s head dropped back and he let out a soft moan.

It had been over a year since someone else had touched him.

“Say it again.” He repeated, voice low.

Despite the fact that most of his brain was being used to keep himself from thrusting up in Sherlock’s hand John caught on. “Oh god yes.”

Sherlock growled, thumb beginning to travel along John’s rapidly hardening length. “Again.” He demanded.

“Oh god yes.” John breathed again.

“You said that the second time we met.” Sherlock said into his ear. He was nearly laying on John, his hand trapped between them.

“I know.”

“But you said it _just_ like that.”

John managed to turn his head so he could look at Sherlock. “ _I know._ ”

A moan spilled from Sherlock’s lips and John was instantly determined to hear it a hundred times more that night.

“You wanted to fuck me then.” Sherlock whispered, a touch of disbelief in his voice. He dipped his head back into John’s neck.

“Yes.” John agreed.

By some miracle, he managed to will his hands to work and he pushed Sherlock away. “Bedroom, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stood this time and when John leaned forward to stand he found himself nearly face first in Sherlock’s lap.

‘Bedroom’ quickly became John’s new mantra and he pushed Sherlock away further, allowing himself the space to stand.

On the walk to the bedroom John managed to remember himself through the fog of chemicals pumping through his blood stream.

The second the bedroom door was shut he advanced on Sherlock, the other man’s eyes widening just a bit. John pushed him backwards onto the bed.

“Of course I wanted to fuck you then.” John told him standing between his legs, pulling off his jumper. “I was pretty certain you’d let me too after the way you jumped around the room. If I’d really pushed, I could have had you over your chair or we could have broken every cylinder on that table.”

Sherlock laid there watching him strip off his shirt, breathing ever so slightly quicker.

John ticked off a mental note for dirty talk as he leaned down to start on Sherlock’s buttons. “Yes.” Sherlock said as he started to help undo his shirt.

“Yes, I could have fucked you or yes this?” John asked punctuating his question by slipping the last button open.

“Both.” Sherlock breathed sitting up to pull it off.

John thanked deities he didn’t believe in that Sherlock still refused to wear a vest as he climbed on the bed, knees on either side of Sherlock’s hips. “All this time and I haven’t, I could have but I haven’t.” John lamented leaning down to brush a kiss onto Sherlock’s lips. “All that wasted time.”

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around his back pinning him into the kiss. “Make up for it then.” He said when he finally loosened his grip a little. John noticed his right hand had begun tracing the ancient scar on his shoulder.

John smiled at him and pressed a softer kiss to his lips. “I will.”

He kissed down to Sherlock’s neck and finally, _finally_ , got the chance to nip at the pale expanse of flesh. When he did Sherlock rocked his hips up into his.

John did it again and was gifted with the same reaction.

“Baskerville.” Sherlock rasped out.

“Hmm?” John hummed into Sherlock’s collarbone, this earned him another hip roll.

“Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.” Sherlock clarified, hands now slowly making their way down John’s back as if mapping him.

John snorted inelegantly but wasn’t surprised. Sherlock never learned to hide his reaction to Captain Watson. “You liked that, did you?”

He felt Sherlock nod above him. “I wanted to make you pull over and fuck me in that ridiculous car.”

John felt a thrill at the idea. He flicked his tongue out over Sherlock’s nipple, he hissed in response back arching up towards him. John did it again and Sherlock moaned, his hands stilling right above John’s hips. John turned his attention to his other nipple and was rewarded with more moans and soft rolls of the hip.

He found _the_ gunshot wound with his lips next and covered it with kisses, like he could heal a six year-old wound.

“Don’t.” Sherlock said softly, fingers digging into his hips. “If you must, I’ll let you feel guilty later but not now.”

John nodded and pressed one last kiss to the scar. He followed a sparse trail of dark hair down to Sherlock’s navel, backing slowly off the bed so he was standing again.

Dipping his tongue into his navel made Sherlock giggle and his hands thread through John’s hair to pull him away.

“Oh is the great Sherlock Holmes ticklish?” John teased letting his head be tilted back so he could look at Sherlock.

Sherlock tried to glare but it wasn’t as effective as it normally was.

John kept his gaze upwards and leaned down again, ignoring Sherlock’s hands tightening in his hair, and flicked his tongue in. Sherlock moaned this time, head dropping back.

“Sherlock.” John whispered against the skin of his stomach.

Sherlock made a noise.

“I’m going to undo your trousers now.” John warned.

He could see Sherlock’s head nod violently. “Yes.”

John carefully undid the button and zip, making sure not to touch Sherlock any more than absolutely necessary. Sherlock’s hands fell from his hair and onto the bed.

When John hooked his thumbs into the waistband, Sherlock lifted his hips without being told and John slid them down. They were halfway down Sherlock’s thighs when he got distracted. Sherlock’s cock was just like the rest of him, long and pale. John finally gave into the urge he’d had in the living room and licked a stripe from the base to the head.

Sherlock moaned loudly.

John dropped to his knees, hands sliding under Sherlock’s hips to urge him further towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re going to regret th-ahh.” Whatever Sherlock’s warning had been it was cut off when John took him into his mouth.

If it had been forever since he’d had sex, it had been even longer since he’d given head. He focused on the sounds Sherlock made for guidance, pressing his thumbs into the joint at his hips keeping him still. The first time he tried to thrust up into John’s mouth he let out a sharp whine of pain but it didn’t keep him from trying again.

Once John was comfortable he swallowed as much of Sherlock into his mouth as he could without gagging, hand working the uncovered section.

“Fuck, oh, fuck.” Sherlock gasped. The word sounded absolutely filthy and foreign in his mouth and John loved it.

Once Sherlock’s moans had devolved back into soft gasps, his fingers twitching on the duvet, John moved one hand to push his trousers down the rest of the way. Sherlock was compliant in lifting his legs so John could slide them off completely.  He gently scratched his nails back up the other man’s calf. Sherlock’s hips twitched violently and he moaned.

John pulled off and pressed a kiss to the head. “You’re very compliant like this.”

Sherlock just made a noise at him.

“Is this how I get you to behave?” John asked, leaning forward so his breath was hitting Sherlock as he spoke. 

Sherlock’s cock twitched and John watched a small bead of precome well up. He darted his tongue out and licked it. Sherlock moaned louder, fingers gripping the duvet now.

John pulled Sherlock back into his mouth. His free hand coming up to cup his balls, massaging them gently between his fingers. The sounds Sherlock was making were beautiful but obviously restrained. John wondered how he’d sound otherwise.

“John. Stop.” Sherlock gasped when a finger slid down to stroke his perineum.

John stopped, immediately pulling his hand and mouth back. Sherlock whined softly.

“Too much?” John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I want to come with you inside me.”

John smiled and nipped at the inside of Sherlock’s pale thigh. Sherlock’s hips arched up, thrusting into empty air.

After retrieving a small bottle from the drawer of the night stand John stood. “Move back.”

Sherlock shook his head and sat up instead. His hands when to John’s jeans and worked to open them. “You’re overdressed.”

“That’s funny coming from you.” John couldn’t help but laugh. Sherlock growled at him and dragged his teeth roughly over John’s nipple.

John moaned and grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders.

~~~~~~

Sherlock smirked at John’s reaction and peppered soothing kisses over the spot he’d just scraped. John’s fingers twitched into the muscle of Sherlock’s shoulders.

Sherlock managed to get his jeans undone and pushed them down along with his pants. John released him to step back and kick them off.

Sherlock took the opportunity to look. He’d only realized he’d licked his lips when John surged forward kissing him fiercely. Sherlock allowed it and then pulled away, holding John’s waist to keep him at a distance. John crossed his arms over his chest.

“Stop that.” Sherlock scolded and swatted at him.

“Sherlock, it looks like your memorizing it.” John said but unfolded his arms anyway.

Sherlock smirked. “I am.”

John shivered ever so slightly under his hands.

He’d had already known a great deal about John. The man had never had any issue in walking from the shower wrapped only in a towel or a dressing gown. He’d also gotten used to changing in front of other’s, probably in the army, and frequently paid no mind to if Sherlock was in the room. Sherlock had stared whenever he knew John wasn’t paying attention.

But John had never been hard during any of Sherlock’s opportunities to observe him. He found he wanted to know every last detail of John’s cock, especially how it felt inside of him and the weight of it on his tongue. Sherlock warred with which he wanted to experience first.

Only when John began to shift uncomfortably did Sherlock look away. Heslid to the ground.

John shook his head went to take a step back but Sherlock kept him pinned in place with his hands.

“I _need_ to know how you taste.” Sherlock told him his voice deep and John shivered again.

John nodded after taking a deep breath.

Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his face into the still dark curls around the base and inhaled. It was pure John and he nuzzled in further, cheek brushing against his cock. He turned his head after a moment and ran his tongue up the side.

“Jesus, Sherlock.” John moaned, fingers coming to rest in Sherlock’s hair.

He traced his tongue around the base, pressing firmly. John’s fingers twitched in his hair. Sherlock continued to lick and kiss and suck around John’s cock until John was panting rocking unsteadily on his feet. He was muttering Sherlock’s name amid a string of incoherent syllables.

Just as he planned to take him into his mouth John gripped Sherlock’s hair and roughly pulled him back. “If you want me inside of you, you need to stop now.” He warned, voice softer than the hand in his hair.

Sherlock was sure he was pouting, just going off the amused look on John’s face but he stood. “I will spend an entire two hours exploring your cock.” He promised, whispering into John’s ear.

John made a strangled noise and nodded. “Not any time soon, probably.”

Sherlock pulled back and realized what John was saying. “How long has it been?” He asked and slowly began stroking him.

“Oh god.” John moaned, head dropping forward.

“John. How long?” Sherlock persisted with light slow strokes.

“O-over a year.” John stuttered out, his hands were curling into fists at his side.

“Poor John.” Sherlock tutted.

John’s head snapped up and he glared. “We are in the middle of sex and you’re mocking me?”

“Would you have it any other way?” Sherlock asked and sat back on the bed.

John sighed and shook his head. “No, you infuriating prat, I would not.”

Tossing the bottle behind Sherlock’s shoulder John climbed onto the bed after him, urging him futher back until Sherlock’s head was nearly off the other side.

“I think.” John said between kisses. “This is why normal people use the bed the other way.”

Sherlock gripped his shoulder and pulled him closer. “Normal people are so dull.”

John laughed and reached under Sherlock, pulling the bottle out. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead and moved down, once again between his thighs.

Sherlock’s eyes slid closed when he heard the lube bottle click open and he let himself fall back. When John’s slick finger pressed against his holes Sherlock tensed despite his best efforts not to. It had been a long time since Sherlock had allowed anyone to top even though he preferred it. There was a level trust he needed to have in the other person to submit to them like this and he was rarely anywhere long enough to build it.

John sensed him and began rubbing his finger tip in soft circles against the muscle. “Relax, Sherlock it’s just me.”

“I know.” Sherlock said taking a deep breath and willing himself to relax.

“Look at me.” John urged and Sherlock opened his eyes to find John closer to his face than he had been.

John smiled softly at him. “You can trust me, I’m a doctor.” He quipped and Sherlock groaned, rolling his eyes.

It was successful because as Sherlock was suffering John’s terrible humor he pressed a single finger inside. Sherlock gasped softly. “That was terrible.”

John chuckled resting his forehead on Sherlock’s chest. “But it worked.”

Sherlock was about to say something when John crooked his finger and expertly found his prostate. Sherlock moaned, hips arching off the mattress. “That is, fuck, cheating.” He managed between gasps.

“Hmm, definitely not.” John disagreed as he continued to softly brush the bundle of nerves with every pass.

He was gentle but relentless. One finger became two, and then a third was added right about the time Sherlock began losing digits of Pi.

John shifted back in between his legs and pressed soft kisses to Sherlock’s stomach.

He was in serious danger of losing all vocabulary past John’s name when the lube clicked a second time. He forced his eyes open to watch John slick himself. He would gladly replace all 243 types of tobacco ash with this image.

John pulled his fingers away finally and waited until he caught Sherlock’s eye.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed.

John pressed into him slowly. Sherlock honestly wondered if he would die before John was all the way in him. He helped through the last centimeters by snapping his hips down.

“Fuck.” John cursed gripping Sherlock’s hips hard enough they’d bruise.

John remained still, hands holding Sherlock in place, head bent and he was panting slightly.

Sherlock waited for as long as he could stand and then slowly he squeezed himself around John.

“Fuck.” John cursed again but he got the hint and began moving, gently.

John moved his hands under Sherlock’s hips and tilted them. The head of his cock finding Sherlock’s prostate with every thrust now.

Sherlock was vaguely aware of the sounds coming from his own mouth but didn’t care. John was fucking him.

“Touch yourself, come on.” John moaned out his fingers digging into Sherlock’s a little harder.

Sherlock obeyed and wrapped a hand around his neglected cock, stroking himself.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous.” John was saying, his eyes were dark and intense.

Suddenly John’s hips snapped forward, head thrown and his mouth hung open with a wordless cry. Sherlock could feel him pulsing inside of him, coming hard.

Sherlock watched, hand moving faster and with more determination. Just as John’s body began to relax Sherlock came, everything inside his head going silent and still.

There was a noise in his ear a few seconds (minutes?) later and Sherlock realized John was laying on him whispering in his ear.

It took a bit longer before he was capable of processing the words. “I love you, you’re gorgeous. I love you.” John was whispering on repeat, hand drawing calming circles on Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock realized then his head and much of his shoulders were hanging off the bed. He groaned and tried to roll himself into a more comfortable position.

“I tried to warn you.” John chuckled and rolled off of Sherlock, making the whole thing infinitely easier.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, it did no good since they were shut.

“Did I fuck Sherlock Holmes into silence?” John giggled as he plastered himself to Sherlock’s side.

They were both still sticky and Sherlock desperately needed to wash himself off but there was something comfortable about laying like this with John.

Sherlock’s closest hand found his thigh and pinched. “Must you be so crude?”

“Shag then?” John asked into his shoulder. “Boffing? Boning? Four-legged fox trot?”

Sherlock slapped a hand over John’s mouth. “I am fully capable of murdering you in such a way they will never find the body.”

This only made John laugh harder.

Sherlock smiled to himself, knowing John couldn’t see. “Is this what you’re like after sex?”

“Sometimes. Normally I’m told I pass out.” John admitted.

“We should clean up before that happens.” Sherlock suggested and began working to untangle himself from John.

John didn’t move and when Sherlock returned from the bathroom he was face down on the mattress, asleep.

He rolled his eyes. “John.” Sherlock grabbed his ankle and shook him.

“I’m awake.” John mumbled into the sheets.

“Yes, very much so.” Sherlock agreed. “Go clean up.”

John sighed heavily but pushed himself up, grumbling the entire time.

Sherlock fell asleep that night curled around John’s back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo proof that my computer is out to get me. My writing music is sound tracks. Avengers, Torchwood, Harry Potter, Sherlock, etc. 
> 
> I'm in the middle of writing this garbage porn and fucking "Waltz for John and Mary" plays. I literally screamed and nearly threw my computer across the room. 
> 
> Also if you read this I'm sorry. Have cookies.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who said such nice things on the last chapter. I really am my worst critic to the point that basically nothing looks the same as it started. 
> 
> Thaaat being said. 
> 
> You might notice that this chapter is a bit different than it was. It's fundamentally the same but muuuuch prettier.

During the third week in January the renovation in 221C is finally completed. John had gotten used to passing workers on his way out in the morning and hearing the sounds of construction carry on below them into the evenings. He’s not sure what had taken the renovation so long but he hadn’t stepped foot in the flat in years, it might have been worse off than he remembers.

When he and Willa leave on the day it finished he was nearly at her school when he realized why the morning had seemed so odd. He hadn’t had bumped into a single worker on his way out.

Sherlock confirms it that afternoon when they get home. It’s finally finished.

“Would you like to come see?” Sherlock asked bedding down to Willa’s height and tapping her nose. The news had put him in an extremely good mood.

Willa nodded excitedly.

Sherlock stood and gave John a once over. “I guess John can come to.” His said sounding bored, but his eyes were playful.

John growled lightheartedly causing Sherlock to grin at him.

Even Baron joined, once they passed him in the hall. Baron had taken to following Willa around like a dog, preferring to be in the same room with her at all times.

The stairwell down to the flat looked almost the same as it had, except with a fresh coat of paint.

When Sherlock opened the door John realized it had been a lot more work than just removing mould and painting the walls.

The far wall is covered entirely with corkboard, hundreds of little pin stuck along the side ready for use. Another wall sported a decent sized white board with four different colored makers resting on the ledge. The bare walls, the ones with the window and the fireplace, had been half painted deep red with the tops a soft cream color. The window curtains were thick fabric and John could tell that when pulled they would block most of the light.

A desk with a new computer was placed by the window and two brown leather high back chairs were placed near to the fire place. The small table between the chairs already boasted a notepad and a cup of pens.

In the middle of the empty floor sat a wooden chair with a sparse looking red cushion. It looked entirely out of place.

When Sherlock saw him looking at it he grinned and pronounced. “Client’s chair.”

John rolled his eyes and wandered into the kitchen. The room is basically the same. A half refrigerator, a small table for eating with two chairs, a sink, a range and a handful of cupboards. John suspected the only reason the range had stayed was due to the kettle sitting atop it.

Somehow though the room seemed smaller than it had been.

Back in what was a living room, Sherlock had pulled Willa from one of the chairs to the door that had once lead  into the bedroom.

“Would you like to see the best part?” Sherlock asked sounding like a kid at Christmas. John worried momentarily about what he might consider the ‘best part’.

 Willa nodded, oblivious to her father’s apprehensions.

When Sherlock threw open the door with excessive flair John understood.

It was very close to being a proper lab.

Two tables filled the center of the room. One empty and the other covered in equipment like breakers, a microscope, and Bunsen burner. The wall of the room that connected to the kitchen had been fitted with locking glass cupboards filled with properly labeled and organized chemicals, he understood now why the kitchen had seemed smaller.

There was even a full sized refrigerator, no doubt for storing Sherlock’s various experiments.

John leaned back on the door, takin in the room with interest, and realized the door was unusually heavy. A fire door. Upon further inspection there was a sprinkler system embedded in the ceiling.

“The whole room is fireproofed.” Sherlock said, as if reading John’s thoughts. He gestured at the sprinkler head. “That’s why the water was off last week.”

John isn’t sure how much of these safety precautions had been put in by Mycroft and how many by Sherlock but he’s glad for them.

One thing he does know, he has no interest in learning how much this renovation had cost.

 “You were never planning on using this as an actual flat were you.” He asked Sherlock one he realized how much planning had gone into this room alone. There was no way he would have been able to change the plans since they’ve gotten together.

Sherlock shrugged. “Not really, no.”

Willa was circling the microscope with, what John could only describe as, hungry eyes. Sherlock noticed and went over to her.

John shook his head and Sherlock and resumed his holding up the wall, watching as Sherlock explained the various parts of the microscope to Willa.

They hadn’t told her about them.

They hadn’t actually told anyone about them yet.

John knew they needed to do it soon. Willa was frighteningly perceptive about those things and it was getting hard to act as thought nothing had changed. Sherlock was following his lead and hadn’t even asked when John planned on telling her. It appeared it was entirely up to him.

Sherlock finished his brief demonstration of the microscope and then let Willa lead him to the cupboards. He lifted her up to see better and began listing off what each chemical was.

John realized that it needed to be done tonight.

Drawing it out would make it seem like a bigger deal than it was, also he didn’t’ want Sherlock to think he was ashamed of him. John was honestly just being selfish. For the most part he liked that they were the only ones to know. He didn’t want to have to put up with Mrs. Hudson’s knowing comments and Mycroft’s smug face when they found out. Though he imagines Sherlock will find the latter harder to deal with.

“Will I need to tell you something.” He announced that night in the middle of dinner. Sherlock froze, fork paused halfway to his mouth.

Sherlock and Willa had just finished arguing over whether broccoli was better or worse than brussels sprouts.

She looked up at John with a curious gaze, fork still trying to twirl up as much fettucine as possible.

John realized then, of course, that he had no idea how to put what’s changed into Willa-appropriate words. Sherlock offered no help, though at least he had closed his mouth and put down his fork.

“Sherlock and I have talks, we’ve decided to be a bit more than friends.” John said after a moment, the explanation sounded weak even to himself.

“What do you mean?” Willa asked.

John cringed, this might be the most awkward conversation he’s ever had with his child. “Well we’re together… like romantically.”

“Oh, like Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft.” Willa said with a nod.

This brought Sherlock out of whatever mental paralysis he’d been in and he made a terrible face, slumping down in his chair.

“Yeah… sort of, but I don’t think Sherlock likes you saying it like that.” John agreed.

Willa shrugged unapologetically. “Just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean it isn’t true.” She was parroting words John had said to her dozens of times.

“Correct.”

Willa took a bit of her food and chewed it for a moment. “So Sherlock’s your boyfriend?”

Sherlock made a strangled noise and seemed to slide even further down his chair.

John felt no sympathy, Sherlock hadn’t helped him through the worst part after all. “Partner.” He corrected. “Sherlock says boyfriend sounds childish.”

Willa rolled her eyes. “I am a child.”

John has to hide a smile behind his hand, she had a point.

“Are you alright with it?” He asked even though he felt certain he knew the answer, Willa loved Sherlock.

“Yes.” Willa said slowly giving him a look one might give to a diseased rodent. It looked very much like one Sherlock had perfected, John wondered if she’d picked it up from him or if he had his own version of it.

There was one last thing John had to say before he can leave the subject drop. He thinks it’s an obvious thing but it still absolutely needed to be said. “It won’t change between you and I, Willa, even though I’m with Sherlock. It won’t doesn’t mean anything will really change for you.”

Willa chewed thoughtfully then her face darkened, eyes cast downward. “What if something happens?”

John is confused. “What do you mean?

“Noah Wolfe’s parents don’t love each other anymore and he doesn’t get to see his mum because of it.” Willa elaborated, playing with her food on her plate. “Does that mean if you and Sherlock don’t love each other anymore that I won’t get to see Sherlock?”

John understood now. He’d heard about the Wolfe’s divorce through second hand child gossip, it was enough to know it had turned ugly and Mr. Wolfe was seeking sole custody of the children.

Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke for the first time since the conversation had started. “Willa even if anything would happen between John and I, I would still see you as much as possible.” He promised before turning to John for confirmation.

John nodded.

Even if it went horribly between him and Sherlock he wouldn’t be able to keep Willa away from him permanently. Not after everything the man had done to keep her safe.

Willa seemed relieved.

“Are we good?” John asked.

She nodded. “Great.”

John let Willa have a cookie for dessert and treated himself to a glass of wine, a sort of pat on the back for a job well done.

They were all in the living room. Willa was constructing an elaborate tower out of her Legos, Sherlock was typing away furiously on John’s laptop (thought at this point it might as well be _their_ laptop) and John was trying to read.

“Do you and Sherlock kiss?” His daughter, with her impeccable sense of timing, asked just as he’d taken in a mouthful of wine.

It nearly came out his nose.

“What?” He asked and wondered how she always managed to do that to him.

Willa rolled her eyes, not looking away from her structure. “People who are,” her eyes flicked up to Sherlock and narrowed, “ _partners_ , kiss.”

“Erm well… sometimes, yes.” John stuttered.

Willa screwed up her face. “Gross.” She whispered just loud enough for them to hear. This earned her a smile from Sherlock, John hadn’t even though the other man was paying attention.

Sherlock put her to bed that night and when he came down he had the strangest smile on his face.

“What?” John asked, still trying to read his book.

“I believe I just receive the ‘hurt him and I’ll hurt you’ speech from your daughter.” Sherlock said and he sounded genuinely entertained by the fact.

John huffed out a laugh. “She probably could.”

Sherlock went back to the laptop again after he sat.

“What are you doing on there tonight?” John asked because Sherlock hadn’t just been scrolling through the pages as he normally did. Tonight he’d been typing away frantically.

“Website.” Sherlock answered distractedly.

“Website?” John repeated and put down his book. “Please tell me you’ve not started updating ‘The Science of Deduction’ again.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and shook his head. “No, a third website.”

“Third?”

“Yours, mine and…” Sherlock trailed off.

“Ours?” John guessed.

“Precisely. You’ve not updated your blog in over five years, mine’s been inactive even longer but we’ll need something now that we’re taking cases again.” Sherlock told him and then turned around the laptop so he could see.

Sure enough it was the layout of a blog with no posts made yet. Sherlock must have been working on the formatting all evening. It was a strangely tasteful mix of the color schemes from both of their blogs, the background is black with soft grey and green boxes. John noticed in the ‘about the author’ section Sherlock had put up separate pictures of them (John’s was his ID photo from work) and then simply put their names and links to their previous blogs.

John was suddenly grateful he’d deleted or edited all the posts involving Mary when he had decided to let Willa read his original blog. He didn’t want any new clients to connect him to her.

“You’ll be able to post what you want and I can post the truth. Makes everything easier.” Sherlock shrugged and turned the computer back himself.

John let the dig about his writing slide and picked his book back up. He didn’t get any farther in reading it, finding himself oddly touched by Sherlock’s gesture of creating them a joint blog.

~~~~~~

Sherlock got his list of cold cases from the police and spent the week solving as many as he could. The first day he solved five.

He learned that week that John wasn’t lying when he said he’d use Willa to get Sherlock to eat and sleep. John sent her down to tell him when it was supper time because he knew Sherlock had trouble telling her he wasn’t hungry, worried about the kind of example he was setting her.

It didn’t escape him that John was perfecting the art of picking at Sherlock’s weak points. John was expertly manipulating him using a mixture of himself and Willa. It turned out to be a particularly effective method.

Once he was upstairs John cheated horribly. Sherlock knew he was being manipulated but continued to let it happen.

John would brush his hand around Sherlock’s neck and ask if he’d stay up to hear Willa read something for a school reading log. Sherlock agreed. After she was done John would kiss him and ask if he’d stay up until Willa went to bed. Sherlock did.

After she was in her bed Sherlock was free to disappear down to the office again. John would appear downstairs to help him after she fell asleep, monitor pulled up on his phone. He seemed to have set himself a bedtime of midnight, though, and wouldn’t help after then.

On Monday night and Wednesday just after midnight John would wage war on Sherlock’s concentration.

He kissed along Sherlock’s neck while he was reading through a file and then whispered the most wonderfully filthy things into his hear. Sherlock was irritated with himself when his traitor body reacted to John’s words.

They hadn’t actually had sex in their flat turned office because John would lure him upstairs once he’d worked Sherlock up to the point he couldn’t even read. Then, afterward John would latch onto him in bed.

Sherlock realized Thursday morning that it was John’s way of ensuring he slept at least six hours most nights.

On Friday night Sherlock was surprised when, instead of waiting until midnight, at quarter past eleven John slid to his knees and shoved his way between Sherlock’s legs.  

“John?” Sherlock asked once John had begun undoing Sherlock’s belt.

John smiled up. The smile was seductive and happy and just a little sad, Sherlock wasn’t sure that many emotions were meant to appear on a single face at the same time but John pulled it off.

“Don’t mind me.” John ordered and nudged the file Sherlock had been reading back in front of his face.

Sherlock tried to do as John instructed but the other man had pulled down Sherlock’s zip and untucked him from his pants.

John didn’t bother to work him hard first, instead he just swallowed Sherlock’s semi-hard cock down with no preamble. Sherlock dropped the file and heard the paper scatter along the floor. He could feel John smirking around him.

John licked and sucked him until he was hard, until Sherlock’s fingernails were biting into the leather upholstery of the chair, and then he pulled off.

Sherlock keened softly at the loss until John replaced his mouth with his hand.

“Do you know what today it?” John asked almost conversationally.

Sherlock had to think. “Twenty-ninth?”

John hummed in agreement and then rewarded Sherlock by bringing up his other hand to fondle his balls. Sherlock’s head dropped back and he was glad he got it right.

John then proceeded to tease Sherlock, taking him to the edge over and over only to draw back and ask inane questions, for nearly thirty minutes before finally letting him come.

Only once Sherlock’s brain had begun to function again did he recognize the significance of the date. He waited until they move upstairs to let John know he knew.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” He whispered into John’s ear after they crawled into bed.

John made a pleased noise and chuckled. “Smug bastard.”

Sherlock smiled into his neck.

“You don’t know how important meeting you that day was.” John said quietly just as Sherlock was about to fall asleep.

Sherlock could feel John shake his head, his chin brushed against his scalp from the way they were laying. “I spent that morning staring down the barrel of my gun.”

Sherlock’s entire body went taught.

“I was too much of a coward to do it.” John continued as he found one of Sherlock’s hands with his own.

“Brave.” Sherlock corrected and John let out a wry chuckle.

“No, the only reason I didn’t is I’d already been shot once. I knew what it felt like and if I missed well… as a doctor one of my worst fears is ending up as a vegetable needing someone to care for me constantly.” He admitted and squeezed their fingers together.

“Brave.” Sherlock insisted and buries his head further down into John’s shoulder. He didn’t want to imagine a world where John Watson had pulled the trigger that morning.

A world where he had just been another soldier suicide, a quickly forgotten reminder of the injustices of war. The Sherlock Holmes of that world would have certainly be dead by now as well.

“That night, after Bart’s, I was too busy trying to figure out who the fuck Sherlock Holmes was to even have time to consider it again.”

“Good.” Sherlock told him.

“So you saved me that night and about a thousand times since.” John whispered softly before pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock had planned on spending the next day in the office. He was working on a way to lure clients while somehow managing to keep the lunatics away, so far he hadn’t found a decent solution. When he walked out into the kitchen he found both John and Willa dressed for the day. This was odd because ti wasn’t even eight on a Saturday, some weekend days Willa didn’t even bother to change at all.

“Have I missed something?” He asked when John put a plate of eggs and bacon at what had become Sherlock’s seat.

“It’s January 30th.” Willa said as if that explained everything.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but sat to eat anyway.

“We’re going to Brixton.” Willa told him with a chuckle. “We go every year.”

“Why?” Sherlock asked, still confused. There was very little of note in Brixton, unless of course one was looking to buy marijuana.

“A study in pink.” Willa sounded exasperated with him, like he was being particularly slow.

Sherlock looked up at John who suddenly busied himself with the dishes. “Where else do you go?”

“The college, the museum, the planetarium and then we get to eat dinner at Angelo’s.” Willa rattled of sounding especially excited about dinner.

“You go every year?”

Willa nodded and then swallowed down a worryingly large bite of egg. “Daddy says we even went when I was a baby.”

Sherlock snorted. “And your stag night theme was inappropriate.” He said to John over his shoulder.

“What?” Willa asked. She was immediately displeased that at no knowing something. John turned and gave him a sharp glare.

“Nothing important.” Sherlock said quickly.

He’s been wondering when John is going to tell her about Mary. She’s more than old enough to notice she was missing a mother. He’s surprised she hasn’t asked already.

“Are you coming with us?” John asked as he finished the dishes.

“Do you really visit old case sites with your daughter?” Sherlock countered.

John grinned. “Yes. They’re child appropriate places and I already let her read the blog.”

Sherlock decided to join them because it seemed infinitely more interesting than his cold cases.

John and Willa seemed to have a routine set up around their odd little ritual.

Willa asked questions about the cases and John answered them in a surprisingly honest fashion.

She already knew most of the details of the cases from reading the blog a great number of things most people wouldn’t have told a six-year-old. John tactfully edited things out that he felt he needed to. It didn’t escape Sherlock’s notice that all of the sites were from their first few major cases, none from the year he jumped or when John and Mary were together.

It continued to confused Sherlock that John would let Willa know about a serial killer cabbie but wouldn’t even tell her that he’d once been married to the woman who had given birth to her.

In Brixton John showed Willa where the building was and then showed her where Mycroft had kidnapped him for their first meeting. She giggled like it was hilarious that her uncle was in the habit of kidnapping people. Sherlock wondered exactly how skewed her moral compass would be as she grew into an adult. Luckily John’s influences were mostly positive in the area, with a few minor quirks.

Willa got to explore the grounds of the college as long as she stayed within site. Sherlock couldn’t resist leaning over and kissing John in front of the building. Willa made a gagging noise at them, her new favorite reaction when they were affectionate in front of her. John just pulled down the hood of her coat over her eyes and then kissed him back.

They explored the museum and planetarium properly. Willa would only pull them aside at points and ask questions about the cases. Sherlock found himself enjoying the tour of the planetarium and made notes of things he wanted to add to their astronomy lessons.

Angelo greeted John like an old friend and treated Willa like royalty, he didn’t hide his surprise at seeing Sherlock well. Evidently John still visited the little restaurant a few times a year.

A candle appeared on their table along with the food. John sighed heavily, Willa giggled and Sherlock enjoyed every second of it.

After they’d finished eating an ice cream sundae the size of Willa’s head appeared before John could protest. John tossed a spoon at Sherlock an informed him he’d be helping them eat it since there was no way he was letting Willa go at it alone.

Willa fell asleep wedged between them during the cab ride home.

“Why do you do it?” Sherlock asked later as they settled onto the sofa together.

John shrugged. “I missed you. All I wanted was for you to know Willa and for her to know you. Since I couldn’t bring you back I was going to make damned sure she knew all about you. So, I brought her into London at barely three weeks old.”

“I would have liked to have known her then.” Sherlock admitted.

Even though, at the time, he hadn’t let himself think of them he truly regretted not ever having gotten to hold Willa as an infant or having gotten to see John’s joy at being a new father.

“I tried not to think about you.” John said in response. “In the hospital the day she was born I nearly punched a hole in the wall. After she was weighed and measured the first person I wanted to call was you. After that I thought it would just be easier not to think of you.”

Sherlock nodded in understanding, he’d felt the same way. John might nearly have damaged property but the one time Sherlock had truly stopped to think about how much he missed John he’d ended up on a four month drugs binge. For him it really had been better to lock away the most important part of his life.

Sherlock leaned over and kissed John because there was nothing else to say, because he was grateful that eleven years ago John had risked his freedom by shooting a man for someone he barely knew, and because he was happy he’d gotten to return to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As to why it looks different. 
> 
> Turns out someone *cough* wrote it and 3000 words of the next chapter entirely in present tense while the rest of the fic is in past tense. 
> 
> I don't even know HOW I managed that because I'm not a fan of present tense.
> 
> Also somehow in the editing process (which was literally I printed out 17 pages and re typed them) this chapter gained over 500 extra words.  
> whoooopsies
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Just a quick note. If you haven't noticed I had to revise the previous chapter because I wrote the entire thing in the wrong tense. While it's fundamentally the same 500+ words magically appeared during the editing. 
> 
> Also I was mapping out future chapters and realized that everything I want to do cannot be done in this one fic. Mostly because it'll be just as huge and feature multiple points of view. Also, I want to give you all a chance to hop off the train while it's mostly rainbows and fluff. There will be angst and more badassery in the next one.
> 
> So this fic is going to be wrapping up. I'd give you a chapter count but this chapter and the next one were meant to be one but as this approached 6k I had to split it so I'm unreliable with that lol.

Molly’s little boy was born at just after ten at night on the 31st of January. She called John to tell him the good news during breakfast the next morning. Willa squealed loud enough that she woke Sherlock. She continued to make all sorts of bizarre high pitched noises while telling him all about it.

The next day John allowed her to skip school, mostly because he didn’t think Mr. West would appreciate the giant ball of sulk Willa would turn into if she learned John was going to meet the baby without her.

Sherlock came with them despite being ostensibly apathetic about the baby.

Molly answered the door with the brightest smile and a burp cloth thrown over her shoulder. As she led them into the living room John smiled fondly at the sheer amount of baby detritus lying around.

Aaron was sitting on the edge of the sofa attempting to coax a bottle into his new son’s mouth. The boy appeared to be completely asleep.

“How’s it mate?” John asked and pat his shoulder as they filed past.

Aaron grinned. “Better if he’d work this eating thing out.”

Willa didn’t sit but began fluttering near the edge of the sofa obviously dying for a look at the baby. John exchanged a look with Molly.

“Aaron how much did he eat?” Molly asked, pulling out her phone no doubt to log the amount.

Satisfied with Aaron’s answer Molly then scooped up her new son and put him up at her shoulder patting him gently. She turned to Willa. “Willa would you like to hold him?”

Willa looked like she was about to feint with excitement.

“Let’s wash our hands.” John interrupted and received a death glare from his daughter.

She reluctantly followed him into the kitchen where she suffered through hand washing before darting back out into the living room. Molly gestured for her to sit in the arm chair, she climbed up into it quickly and sat with her hands on her knees eyeing the baby.

John grabbed one of the throw pillows and knowingly tucked it up under her arm. Molly went forward then and laid the baby in her lap.

Instantly all of Willa’s high strung energy evaporated, suddenly calm as Molly moved her arms to a better position.

“Have you got him?” Molly asked and when Willa nodded she backed away.

John was impressed that she trusted his daughter enough to let her hold the baby without hovering. They both pulled out their mobiles at the same time, exchanged a glance and then giggled.

“Have you thought of a name?” John asked as he took his fill of photos. Willa was totally enraptured.

“Theodore James.” Molly said with a big grin.

“TJ?”

“Teddy for now.”

Teddy remained deep asleep in that oblivious to the world way newborns had. Willa was just looking at him in awe.

After a few moments both Molly and John relaxed enough to move away from the chair. Molly sat on the floor by Willa and John went over towards the loveseat.

Sherlock was still standing, watching Willa with a soft look on his face. John leaned over the arm of the seat and tugged on the sleeve of his Belstaff to get him to move.

“He looks… healthy.” Sherlock said in an attempt to complement Molly on her new baby. John wondered if Sherlock had ever interacted with an infant so young before.

Molly grinned happily at his attempt, taking it for what it was. “He is and big too. Of course that’s because he decided to stay in there until they evicted him.”

John listened to them talk while he watched his daughter hold the little boy. Aaron was falling asleep on the couch and John had an idea.

“How long have you been up?” He asked and startled Aaron awake.

Aaron blinked for a few moments before answering. “Uh… five thirty on Sunday, give or take a few catnaps.”

John did the math. It was over fifty hours.

“Aaron’s gotten two hours all together and I think I’m somewhere around three.” Molly confessed turning away from her conversation with Sherlock.

John shook his head. “Do you two want to go have a quick nap?”

Aaron and Molly locked eyes. John could see that they both wanted to take him up on his offer but were worried about leaving their son.

“Look.” John said in an effort to reassure them. “We’ve got nowhere to be for the rest of the day. I’d rather be helpful than sitting around at home.” He grinned then and nodded to his daughter. “Besides at this rate she’ll be hogging him for the rest of the day.”

They agreed to the idea after a bit more coaxing. John had reassured Molly that after a decent nap they would be able to tag team the whole sleep schedule.

John, as it turned out, was not wrong in his assumption that Willa would hog the baby. She spent the next hour doing nothing but holding Teddy. John turned on the television after twenty minutes just to give her something to look at if she got bored. She barely paid attention.

If Willa was enraptured, then Sherlock was absolutely captivated by the pair of them. He spent most of the time alternating between watching them and scrolling through his phone.

Just past the hour mark Willa had begun wriggling in her seat. John noticed and went to her.

“Alright, love, let me see him.” He took Teddy from her gently.

Teddy was about as heavy as Willa had been at a month old but he was still so light. John carefully cradled the still sleeping boy into his elbow and wiggled the blanket down to get a good look at him. He had full cheeks and bright pink lips that were pursed and moving slightly as he sucked at an imaginary bottle in his sleep.

John had forgotten how much he loved babies at this stage.

He turned to put him in the bassinet in order to go find something useful to do but he spied Sherlock on the sofa busy with his phone. John changed his route and walked over to him instead.

Sherlock, having read the meaning behind his change in direction, shook his head. “John, not a good idea.” He warned.

John rolled his eyes. “Sherlock, hold out your arms.”

Sherlock shook his head again. John wouldn’t give up that easily. “Really, Sherlock, now is the best time to hold him. He’ll barely move.”

Sherlock looked up to the baby, torn.

“Molly is going to ask if you’ve held him.” John informed him.

That got Sherlock to sigh and hold out his arms. John gently placed the baby into them and Sherlock on instinct drew the boy up to his chest.

“He’s so small.” He breathed after a minute of adjusting to the new weight in his arms.

“He’s bigger than Willa was, by about two pounds, I think.” John said as he perched on the arm of the loveseat.

Sherlock looked up to Willa, who had begun watching the television, in surprise. “She was?”

John nodded. “Yep, she didn’t weigh this much for at least a month.”

“And you would have trusted me to hold her?” Sherlock asked, sounding genuinely shocked at the idea.

John chuckled. He reached out and brushed one of Sherlock’s curls off his forehead. Unable to resist, now, he leaned over the baby and pressed a kiss there. “Of course I would have.”

He straightened back up and stood. “Alright then. I’ll be in the kitchen washing bottles.”

Sherlock looked on the verge of a panic attack. “John, no.”

“You’ll be fine, Sherlock.” John called over his shoulder at him. “if you want to put him down the cradle is over there.”

He heard nothing from Sherlock for the next hour. John had decided after washing dishes to prep another bottle, it had been nearly two hours since they arrived.

As if on cue Sherlock called out to him and when John stuck his head in the living room to answer he could see Teddy squirming on Sherlock’s chest.

“Good timing that one.” John complimented the baby as he grabbed the bottle off the counter.

He relieved Sherlock of his small burden in order to change and feed the boy.

At four John went to wake Molly and Aaron. They were passed out fully clothed, on top of the covers and lying sideways across their bed.

Molly was shocked when she saw the time. “John really, why did you let us sleep this long.” She protested and shoved her husband’s leg to wake him.

When they got to the living room John allows himself a triumphant smile. Before going to wake them, he had convinced Sherlock to feed Teddy his next bottle. Once John had showed him how, he’d taken to it just fine, despite the fact he constantly looked afraid.

“Oh Sherlock, you’re a natural.” Molly gushed and pulled out her phone to take a picture.

Sherlock didn’t grimace or scowl for the photo. Either he was afraid Molly would slap him or it was an effort to please her, John wasn’t sure which. As soon as she turned Sherlock glared daggers at him behind her back, John just took his own photo.

“What’s that smell?” Aaron asked as he finally stumbled into the living room, he’d showered and changed.

“Oh.” John said remembering what he’d done. “I hope you don’t mind but I made chicken and rice casserole. It’ll be done in about thirty. Sherlock and Willa prepped a lasagna for the freezer. Just heat it and it’ll be good to eat.”

Molly nearly knocked him over with the force of her hug. “John, thank you but why?”

John shrugged. “I know I would have appreciated something like that when Willa was born.”

Sherlock was watching them with an unreadable face.

Molly’s face fell. “Oh John, I would have but-“

John raised a hand to cut her off. “No, it was my fault. I made the choice to seclude us from everyone.”

“You were in mourning.” Molly said softly but the way Sherlock’s face broke and he turned away John knew he’d heard the comment.

Willa did not stop talking about Teddy the entire trip home. Though the question John had been bracing himself for did not make an appearance until the middle of dinner.

“Will you ever have another baby?” She asked John.

John shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

Willa pouted. “Why not?”

“Because sometimes that’s how life works. Besides I’ve got you, why would I need another child?” John asked hoping a little ego boost would draw her off the subject.

It didn’t work. Willa stabbed her chicken with a bit more force than necessary. “But I _need_ a brother or sister.”

John ignored the comment. He didn’t even have enough energy to have the conversation about the difference between need and want again.

Later he and Sherlock are downstairs in the office. Sherlock was still going through his cold cases and John was helping. Though tonight ‘helping’ meant that John was lounging in one of the arm chairs playing some tower stacking game Willa had downloaded on to his phone. It was oddly addictive.

The doorbell rang and startled both he and Sherlock.

Sherlock climbed to his feet in a second, a manic grin plastered to his face. There was only one reason someone would be at their house at half past ten. A client.

John didn’t bother moving from his seat because Sherlock was already halfway up the stairs when he thought of it. He listened as two sets of feet traveled back down again. Looking up John smiled to see Greg following Sherlock into the room.

“Woah, place looks great.” Greg stated with a whistle as he looked around the room.

John finally pocketed his phone. He might not be Sherlock Holmes but the file folders in Greg’s hand meant this wasn’t a social call. “Hello, Greg.”

“John.” Greg nodded at him. Sherlock was standing by the door still, eyes glued to the folders.

Greg noticed this and waved them around a bit unnecessarily. “I’ve got something for you two. As of two hours ago, eight people are dead of Thallium poisoning all within the last three weeks.”

Sherlock took a step forward, most interested now. “Thallium?”

“Yeah but the thing is, none of them are connected. The people I mean.” Greg turned to tell Sherlock.

Sherlock brushed by him and snatched the folder from his hand. “The universe is rarely so lazy.” He paused as if thinking of something. “Uhg, you should know that saying.”

The way Greg grinned told John that it was another one of Mycroft’s.

“Thirty-two year old football mum from Dollis Hills, eighty-year-old in Golden Gate’s assisted living facility, a seventeen-year-old kids from Hackney among five others who have absolutely nothing in common.” Greg said and pointed at the file in Sherlock’s hands.

“Except that they’re all dead of Thallium poisoning.” Sherlock reminded him already flipping through the file.

“Who’s on pathology.” Sherlock asked as he got to a medical examiners report.

“Molly was for three of them, now that she’s on leave they’ve got in a new guy, Golden, to do them.” Greg turned to John then. “You seen her?”

John nodded. “Spent the day there actually.”

“Sent me a photo. I’ve been running my arse off with this case the past few days or else I’d have gone out to see her.” Greg said. “So the quicker you solve this the quicker I can go cuddle the baby.” He told Sherlock then.

Sherlock sighed and closed the folder. “John stand up.”

John returned the sigh but stood anyway. “What?”

Sherlock then proceeded to crowd them until they were forced out of the room.

“Sherlock…” John started but it devolved into a stream of curses under his breath when he heard the lock turn.

Greg grinned at him. “Glad to see he hasn’t changed.”

John saw Greg out and then went up the stairs.

_That was rude._

_Working - SH_

_I’m going to bed._

He didn’t get a response back.

John woke to someone looking down at him from his side of the bed. He nearly swung out at the person until he realized it was Sherlock.

~~~~~~

“You wanted children.” Sherlock said once he was sure John was fully awake. John still woke surprisingly quickly to a presence in the bedroom.

John sighed heavily and laid back in bed. Once he realized Sherlock wasn’t going away he cracked an eye open. “Yes, and I got one.”

Sherlock huffed. “No, _children_. Plural.”

John watched him for a moment before nodding. “Yes. I once had dreams of four kids, a dog and a farm.”

“But you don’t want that now?” Sherlock asked. He could give John the farm and the dog but the four children gave him pause.

“Life changed, Sherlock.” John said as Sherlock lowered himself down on the edge of the bed. “I’ve got Willa, I’d hate being outside London and we’ve got Baron. Even if he is a tiny bastard.” He might have been on the wrong end of Baron’s claws once or twice.

“So you don’t want any more children?” Sherlock continued to press. He needed to know the answer to this question.

He’d not been able to stop thinking of John with Molly’s baby and how natural and happy he’d been.

“Do you want children, Sherlock?” John snapped, turning the question back on him.

Sherlock recoiled. John sighed again, softer and he reached out a hand and began rubbing small circles into Sherlock’s back.

“I… don’t know.” Sherlock admitted to his knees. Teddy had been…not unpleasant but when John had mentioned Willa had been smaller he found himself imagining how it would be with a child of his own.

“Come to bed, Sherlock.” John said gently. “We can talk about it another time.”

Sherlock hesitated but then stood and walked around to his side of the bed. “Alright.”

Wednesday Sherlock spent the day at the morgue going over all of the autopsy reports and looking at the bodies. Golden was useless and constantly flinched whenever Sherlock leaned in to take a closer look at one of the corpses.

Molly had informed him that, no she would not come back for a few hours just so he didn’t have to deal with incompetence.

They were all varying genders, weights, ethnicities, ages, religions, and sexual orientations. There was a vegan and the old man from the assisted living facility lived off of soften foods.

None of their stomach contents were even the same, though that didn’t surprise Sherlock. Whatever they had ingested the poison in it would have been long gone. Thallium had about a three-day window of effect, most of them would have thought they were coming down with the flu and then died suddenly.

Thursday Sherlock dragged John with him to as many of the houses as possible. There were a few items in common among each of them but the problem came when they tried to investigate Ernie Tash and June Olsen’s cupboards.

Ernie was the old man from the assisted living facility. Everything he had eaten in the week leading up to his death had been served to over forty other people as well. None of them had died, well of Thallium poisoning anyway.

June was the second youngest of the deaths.

“What’s her address?” Sherlock asked once they left Golden Gates Assisted Living Facility.

“She hasn’t got one?” John told him as he followed, flipping through her file.

“What?”

“Uh, says here she’s homeless, occasionally stayed at one of the shelters by the river.” John said.

Sherlock turned and clapped. “Oh that’s brilliant!” He ignored John’s look of confusion, instead he leaned down and kissed him soundly in the middle of the street. 

That night after John had gone up to bed Sherlock slipped out to put the word out through his homeless network. They would be especially interested in this case since one of their own had been caught up.

On Friday, just after John and Willa left Sherlock received summons from his brother by way of near kidnapping.

He huffed into Mycroft’s office wishing he hadn’t been dressed for the day when they came. It irritated Mycroft greatly when he came in in a dressing gown.

“Brother, I hear congratulations are in order.” Mycroft greeted him.

Sherlock scowled and dropped himself roughly into one of the chairs. “Stalking people is rude, Mycroft, and probably not a very appropriate use of government funds.”

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock, I have nearly lost my entire career for you, if you cannot just text every now and then to update me on the status of your life I am forced to resort to such drastic measures.”

Sherlock pulled out his phone.

_John and I are fucking – SH_

“There, now may I leave?”

Mycroft looked down at his phone when it vibrated with an incoming message. He rolled his eyes and turned the phone on its face. “Very mature, Sherlock, but no that is not why I called you here.”

Sherlock wasn’t that surprised, he knew Mycroft had been sitting on the news of his and John’s relationship probably since the day it started. He would have had no problem waiting even longer before rubbing it in Sherlock’s face that he knew.

“What now?”

“Hadeon Wolanski is dead.” Mycroft told him and handed over a photo of the man slumped on the floor in a cell somewhere. There was a blue cloth tied around his neck and to one of the bars overhead.

“Suicide?” Sherlock asked as he tossed the picture back at his brother. The photographs were unreliable as to whether the hanging had been staged.

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, seems he made a noose out of his own trousers and waited to hang himself until after the last check of the night.”

“Damn.” Sherlock cursed.

“He gave us nothing new on Mary before his death.” Mycroft said, he almost sounded apologetic about that fact.

Sherlock folded his hands under his chin and stared at the hardwood of the desk in front of him. “I’ll have to tell John.”

He was not looking forward to that. As long as they had Wolanski there was a chance they would be able to learn something that would lead them to her. Now that he was dead their only lead in six years went with him. John would probably be furious.

“Yes.” Mycroft agreed. He looked ready to dismiss Sherlock but then hesitated. “Might I make a suggestion?”

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “I doubt I could stop you.”

“Gregory and I have the children next weekend. We would love to have Willa over.” Mycroft said and it sounded like someone was forcing the words from his throat.

Sherlock stared.

Mycroft sighed. “Sherlock next weekend is the weekend of the fourteenth.”

Ah, Valentine’s day.

Sherlock still wasn’t sure he hadn’t started hallucinating. “Are you offering to take Willa on Valentine’s Day weekend so I can make it up to my partner that our lead to his psychotic ex is dead?”

Mycroft grimaced. “Well, I would not word it that way to him, I doubt he would accept.”

“But you’re offering to take our child so we can have a romantic weekend.” Sherlock reiterated.

Mycroft looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Yes, Sherlock.”

Sherlock stood abruptly. “I’ll make him the offer and let you know.” He was about to leave when, for reasons unknown to him, turned and asked. “Why do you have the children then? Shouldn’t you and Lestrade be off…” He trailed off unable to finish the sentence.

Mycroft looked up from his desk perplexed, obviously having expected Sherlock to leave. “It’s our weekend with them but I also believe Deborah is planning a trip with her newest toy. We’ll take an extended weekend in March before the hearing.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

“Gregory has decided to apply for majority custody. She’s digging in her heals, of course, so there must be a hearing.” Mycroft explained.

“Are you meddling with that?”

Mycroft shot him a look Sherlock remembered all too well from their childhood, the ‘don’t be an idiot, Sherlock’ one. “Of course I am.”

“Good.” Sherlock agreed and then finally left the office.

He knew he couldn’t bring up Wolanski while Willa was awake because of the risk they might be overheard. He could, though, bring up the weekend. He still waited until she was upstairs playing before doing so.

“Mycroft and Lestrade have offered to take Willa next weekend.” He called to John who was starting their dinner.

“Oh, have they? That’s nice.” John called back absently. He paused then and glanced at the calendar. “Wait over Valentine’s Day?”

“Yes, apparently they’ll already have Lestrade’s children.” Sherlock told him and then shuddered. “I believe my brother is trying to congratulate us on our relationship.”

John snorted. “And what did you say?”

“I said I had to check with you.” Sherlock said as he stood and wandered into the kitchen to see what John was making.

John looked over at Sherlock. “Do you want to send her off for the weekend?” He asked carefully.

Sherlock shrugged and leaned forward to steal a piece of the pepper John was chopping. “Valentine’s day is meant to be romantic. I would not be opposed to spending some time alone without Willa overhead.”

John set down the knife and pulled him closer. “Tell them we’d really appreciate it.” He said before pulling Sherlock down to kiss him deeply.

Once he’d released Sherlock he sent a text to Mycroft accepting their offer. He cursed himself once he realized he would now have to make some sort of plan for the day if not the entire weekend. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

He didn’t disappear downstairs after Willa went to bed and that might have been what tipped John off. He emerged from the kitchen with glasses and a bottle of liquor.

“Alright, out with it, what’s happened.” John asked as he poured them each a glass.

Sherlock accepted his glass before speaking. “Wolanksi is dead.”

John startled and nearly dropped the bottle. “Jesus Christ, how?”

“Suicide in his cell overnight.” Sherlock said.

John slumped into his chair. “God damnit. There’s our only lead gone.” He dropped his head into his free hand.

“I’m sorry.” Sherlock was upset as well because he had promised John he would end this and he didn’t want to be made a liar out of.

John looked up at him. “No, it’s not your fault.”

Sherlock didn’t feel that way but he also didn’t want to argue over whether it was anyone’s fault. “We’ll find another lead.” He promised instead.

John looked skeptical but opted instead for silence and more liquor.

Sunday morning Sherlock decided to take Willa out for a walk while John settled. He’d taken the news of Wolanski’s death well enough at first but he’d been short with everyone on Saturday.

Willa looked almost relieved when Sherlock told her they would spend the morning away from the flat as she came downstairs. John wasn’t up yet so Sherlock left him not only a note on the refrigerator but sent a text telling him they’d be out. He didn’t need to upset John any further.

“Why is daddy mad at me?” Willa asked over the breakfast she had ordered but hadn’t eaten.

Sherlock set down his tea and contemplated how to answer the question without stepping over one of the boundaries John had set up around her. “He’s not mad at you.” He told her to start.

“Then who’s he mad at? You?” Willa asked.

Sherlock shook his head. “I don’t think he’s mad at me. We’ve got a case and one of our leads got away. John is upset about it.” He didn’t lie to her, finding Mary _was_ a case.

“Oh… I’d be upset too.” She nodded her head in understanding. “Why aren’t you upset?”

Sherlock realized he couldn’t tell her how bothered he actually was about Wolanski’s death so he shrugged. “I know we’ll find another lead.”

Willa began eating her breakfast then.

Despite the cold Willa wanted to walk along the Thames. Sherlock held her hand as they walked and she told him about her week and of course recounted meeting Teddy. With any other human Sherlock would have be bored to tears but he enjoyed listening to Willa talk. He was about to take her to the mall to teach her how to make basic observations when his phone vibrated.

_Are you coming back?_

_My note said we’d be out for the morning. – SH_

_Really?_

_You were being rude. Your daughter thought you were mad at her. – SH_

_I’m utter shit and I’m sorry. Come home?_

_Will you be nice? – SH_

_Yes._

_We’re on our way then. – SH_

As they got to Baker Street Sherlock noticed a young man begging for change on the corner nearest their home. He wasn’t certain how John would react to Willa interacting with his homeless network but he had no doubt that they’d found a lead for him.

He lifted Willa up and she squeaked in delight and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers burrowing beneath his scarf. He cupped a hand behind her head and urged her to burry her head down as well.

“Change sir?” The man asked.

Sherlock nodded and pulled out a note from his pocket, as he handed it over he felt a piece of paper slide back into his. He stuffed it into his coat.

“Have a good day.” The man called after him as he carried Willa back to the flat.

John was sitting on the sofa and he smiled when he saw them, Sherlock still carrying Willa.

“Alright?” John asked and stood to take her.

“Fine.” Sherlock said and passed her over.

“Bloody hell your nose is cold. What were you doing? Holding ice to it?” John exclaimed and Willa giggled.

“No, we were looking at the river.” She said and hugged John.

“Oh and how was that?” John asked sitting again.

“Cold.” Willa answered.

Sherlock sighed and threw his hands up. “I had told you it would be.” He disappeared into the kitchen in a huff.

The note simply read.

_Eagle Squadrons Memorial  
11p - Taylor_

Sherlock folded the note up and returned to living room.

When Willa disappeared from the room he showed the note to John.

“What’s this then?” John asked and handed the paper back.

“Information on our Thallium murders.” Sherlock told him.

“Tonight?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded.

“I won’t be able to come.” John said and he looked upset.

Sherlock shrugged, he’d already thought of that. “I am capable of meeting with people on my own.”

John gave him a disbelieving look. “Yeah, and then you end up stabbed or poisoned.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I won’t get stabbed or poisoned.”

“Kidnapped? Shot?” John asked and he stood, clearly agitated.

“John.” Sherlock said sharply and John looked at him. “It’s just a meeting with someone June knew. It will be fine.” He pulled John to him.

John sighed and leaned into the hug. “I know, I just hate the idea of you going out without backup on case.”

“Well you’ll need to get used to it.” Sherlock told him bluntly. He softened the messaged by kissing John’s temple. “Unless we hire a nanny, you’ll have to stay behind sometimes.”

John looked up. “You want to hire a nanny?”

“No. I was reminding you of the option other than letting me go out on a simple meeting without you.” Sherlock said.

Taylor turned out to be a young woman about June’s age, she was also a user which explained the clandestine meeting.

“In the week before June got sick what did she eat… or take.” Sherlock was positive the Thallium wasn’t in drugs but he had to ask.

Taylor shrugged. “Sandwiches mostly. She’d use her money to buy bread and jam to keep in her backpack. She said it was cheaper than buying burgers and stuff.”

“So just the sandwiches and jam?” Sherlock asked. “What about to drink?”

“Water, most places will give it to you free. Oh and the soda.” Taylor said shrugging.

“Soda?” Sherlock asked.

“Well yeah. I got an extra soda so I gave it to her.”

Sherlock looked the girl over again. “She was your girlfriend?”

Taylor nodded. “Yes… sorta.” Her hand subconsciously traveled to her elbow as she said it. June hadn’t been fond of the drugs.

John was still awake when Sherlock got home though he tried very hard to make it look like he hadn’t been waiting.

“I’m in one piece.” Sherlock announced as he changed for bed.

“That’s good. It’s much better as one whole package.” John grinned cheekily at him.

“You have work in the morning.” Sherlock reminded.

“Alas the ruiner of all my fun.” John told him. “I know but it doesn’t mean I’m not going to look.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the other man.

He spent the entirety of the next day thinking. He was close to solving the case and that was good, the sooner he solved it the sooner he could worry about the weekend. It was more difficult than he’d imagined, trying to solve this case and plan for Valentine’s Day at the same time.

During dinner his phone rang. There’d been another Thallium poisoning, except this time the boy was still alive.

Twelve-year-old Kyle Long had presented with nausea, vomiting and severe stomach pains early that afternoon. All of the hospitals in London had been warned to test any patients arriving with these symptoms for Thallium poisoning.

Kyle was their first living victim.

“I’ll go.” John said.

“We could bring her.” Sherlock offered looking down at Willa who was watching them closely.

John’s lips pursed into a tight line. “I don’t know…”

“John, we’re going to a hospital to speak to a family about their ill son. She is no way in any danger.” Sherlock sighed.

The mental argument John was having showed on his face until finally he nodded. “Alright.”

Willa was out of her chair in a flash grabbing her coat, thrilled she was going with them on one of their investigations.

“Alright, you sit here where I can see you.” John warned Willa and sat her in the waiting room adjacent from Kyle’s hospital room.

Lisa and Victor Long were crowded around their son’s bed looking distraught. A young girl, not much older than Willa sat in the corner and watched everything with shiny wide eyes. John introduced them and Sherlock noted he purposely affixed his ‘doctor’ title when he did.

They didn’t question when John pulled the boys medical chart from the wall and began looking through it.

“Who would…” Lisa trailed off and looked to her daughter. “Marie, can you go out and wait while we talk?”

The girl stayed where she was.

“My little girl’s out in the waiting room.” John said and pulled a couple notes from his pocket. “Why don’t you two go get a snack?”

Sherlock had to reign in his smirk when this got the little girl to move. John had been worried about bringing Willa with them now saw the use of having a child with. John and Lisa Long watched as Marie approached Willa. When Willa looked to John he nodded.

“Who would poison a little boy?” Lisa asked finishing her question from earlier.

“He’s the ninth victim we know of so far.” Sherlock explained.

Kyle’s diet was unremarkable and had very few items in common with the other victims.

“Sherlock, he was in school this morning.” John hissed after he’d thanked the parents for their help.

“I know.” Sherlock agreed.

“What if other kids end up with this?” John asked as they approached Willa and Marie. The girls had found a scrap of paper somewhere and were playing tic-tac-toe on it, an empty snack cake wrapper and two soda bottles sat between them.

“Alright Willa it’s time to leave, Marie your mother said you could go back in with your brother.” John told the girls and started pulling Willa towards him.

“Is her brother going to die?” Willa asked as they started out of the hospital.

Sherlock looked over to John who began chewing on his lip. “We don’t know.” John answered after a moment.

“Did you spend all my money?” He asked then, changing the subject.

Willa nodded. “Yes, the machine didn’t have Dr. Pepper and it only gave us one bottle so we had to buy two” She pouted slightly at her misfortune.

Sherlock lifted his head. “Why did you say that?”

Willa looked up. “What?”

“You said it only gave us one bottle, that’s how vending machines work. So why did you say that?” Sherlock repeated and stopped walking.

By default John and Willa stopped too.

“Marie said this morning she and Kyle got two sodas instead of one on their way to school.” Willa explained slowly as if not sure what Sherlock was really asking.

It all came together then.

“Oh. OH! You beautiful, clever girl.” He cried and lifted Willa. He kissed her cheek as he spun her. He turned to John as he set her back down. “I need to go somewhere. Go home.”

John sighed and took Willa’s hand, she still looked slightly dazed. “What’s going on?”

“Japan!” Sherlock called over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

John might have called after him again but Sherlock was already out of the doors.

“In Japan in 1985 there was a string of poisonings later called the Paraquat murders. The culprit left tainted sodas in various vending machines around Hiroshima.” Sherlock explained without preamble as he burst into Lestrade’s office later that night.

Lestrade was of course, still there, toiling away late into the night over the eight murders. “Alright and I care why?”

“June Olsen’s girlfriend gave her the spare soda she got out of a vending machine, a nursing aide who was fond of Mr. Tash shared the extra soda she received at the machine outside her house with him, Karen Miller’s son forgot to bring a water bottle to football practice and when she bought him one she drank the soda that fell out with it.” Sherlock explained and stopped when he saw the comprehension drawing on Lestrade’s face.

“Bloody hell, it’s in the sodas.” He cried and stood grabbing his phone.

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed.

He was a little surprised when Lestrade’s phone call was to his own son rather than to immediately put out the word. Only after he thoroughly put the boy off from soda did he call to put out a warning about the tainted soft drinks.

“Any ideas of who’s doing it?” Lestrade asked as he sank back into his chair after making the phone calls.

“Roy Turner, forty-two, a disgruntled former bottling plant employee.” Mycroft said as he entered the room.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and wondered how long his brother had been lurking waiting to make a dramatic entrance.

Greg sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “And now you’re involved.”

“Indeed I am.” Mycroft agreed. “Sherlock, felt I had reason to assist him in locating the poisoner.”

“Alright.” Greg said and held out a hand for whatever evidence Mycroft had.

Mycroft passed it to him. “Now, Detective Inspector, I would suggest sending one of your sergeants after Mr. Turner. I have it on good authority your husband would like to see you sometime this week.”

Greg grinned and Sherlock made a retching noise.

“Oh god this is a sex thing isn’t it?” He gagged.

Mycroft’s face turned sour. “Brother dear, how is planning that weekend coming along?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Paraquat murders are a real and still unsolved mystery from April-November 1985 in Fukuyama, Hiroshima. Around 10 people died, 35 more became violently ill. 
> 
> I'm a lazy writer and draw most of my case ideas from real life cases. That being said my google search history is concerning.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly smut with a teeeeeny-tiny amount of plot.
> 
> *Look I'm warning ya'll now there is a tiny paragraph that involves feet in kinda sexual situation but like it's not bad. I haaate feet and foot fetishes are just gross to me but I wrote this. If this bugs you you'll be able to figure out when it's coming and skip the paragraph*
> 
> I'm working on Chapter 16 now. Per usual it's entirely possible The Lying Detective will ruin me for the next day or so.

“Where are we going?” John asked in the car on the drive to Mycroft’s.

He’d been surprised when Sherlock had informed them they were driving themselves for the weekend.

“Stop asking John. I won’t tell you.” Sherlock told him.

John turned in his seat to look at Willa in the back. She was still dressed in her school clothes and her backpack was resting on the seat next to her, they’d left straight after picking her up from school.

“Alright Willa, where am I going?” John asked his daughter.

Willa shrugged.

John turned around just in time to see Sherlock wink at her in the rearview mirror. He threw up his hands. “Oh you’ve brought my daughter in on this?”

“You’re the one who asked her. You assumed I would.” Sherlock told him.

John was secretly pleased. He didn’t mind Sherlock and Willa having little secrets like this, it only proved how well they were getting on.

Sherlock turned down the drive to Mycroft’s house and John pretended to sulk. “You two ganging up on me.” He teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Willa darted into the house leaving John to carry in her backpack and overnight bag. She found Greg and Mycroft in the kitchen with what looked to be the beginning of a pizza between them.

“Woah, hello there.” Greg said when she collided with his legs to stop.

“She’s here.” John announced unnecessarily and waved her duffle bag in front of him.

“Good.” Mycroft said. “You can help me, Reinette.”

“How?” Willa asked and let go of Greg to make her way to Mycroft at the counter.

“Gregory is insisting we need to put olives on our pizza, how do you feel on the matter?” Mycroft asked her.

Willa pulled a face. “Olives are disgusting.”

After a lively argument for and against olives, in which John realized both Holmeses and Willa were on the same wide while he and Greg were opposing, Willa was instructed that David and Addison were in the media room. She bounced off in that direction.

“Here’s her things… probably enough for a week.” John said as he put the bags on the table. “I haven’t checked her bag but please check and see if she has homework.”

Mycroft nodded. “Has my brother informed you of your destination.”

John threw his hands up and turned to Sherlock in mock exasperation. “Does everyone know but me?”

“John, I believe my brother would have known even if I hadn’t told him.” Sherlock said and then grabbed his arm. “We’ll be going now. Try not to need us before Sunday night.” He said this both to Mycroft and Greg.

“Willa can call, of course.” John said and elbowed Sherlock who then nodded.

“Yes, she may call.” Sherlock then proceeded to drag John from the room leaving him to shout his goodbyes.

John tried to read any clues from where Sherlock was driving him. The only thing he got from this was that they were headed back into London.

In the end they were only about a half hour from their home but those thirty minutes made the world of difference. They pulled up to a more than posh hotel located on the edge of Syon park.

John turned to Sherlock. “Here?”

Sherlock nodded. “Hmm, yes. Not my favorite but I think you’ll appreciate it. Also it’s close enough to home to keep you from worrying so much.”

“Bloody hell.” John cursed because sometimes there was a level of culture shock he went through in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes. A man who could call a five star hotel ‘not his favorite’ without thinking it odd.

“There is plenty to do and the grounds are expansive, but of course, if you wish we never have to leave the suite.” Sherlock told him as they entered the hotel.

The tone of his voice immediately had John’s brain going ‘yes, please I’ll have that one’.

“Hold on. Suite?” John clarified.

Sherlock scoffed. “Of course.”

“Bloody hell.” John repeated.

Their suite was done tastefully in dark wood and upholstery but light colored bedding. This was exactly the kind of room he could see Sherlock in, which was probably why it had been picked. The bathtub was approximately the size of their entire bathroom at Baker Street. Of course there was an equally large shower with enough fixtures to be confusing. John stared at it long and hard, imagining all the things he wanted to do to Sherlock in it.

“You know I would have been happy with a kiss and a ‘happy Valentine’s day’?” John asked as he found Sherlock sitting on the bed with the room service menu in hand.

Sherlock nodded and then tossed the menu at him. “Hungry?”

John caught it. “Starving.”

Sherlock grinned at his double meaning. “I mean food, John.”

“I’m aware, and yes that too.” John said and sat on the bed to look it over. “But really I would have been more than fine with dropping Willa off and then going home to spend a weekend alone.”

Sherlock stood and stepped in front of him, pushing between his knees. He cupped John’s face and tilted it up to look at him. “I am aware. In fact I even thought of it but there was a problem.”

“Oh?” John asked and dropped the menu in favor of placing his hands on Sherlock’s hips.

“Mrs. Hudson is home this weekend. I wouldn’t have been able to make you scream.” Sherlock said and his voice was suddenly dark and dirty. It went straight to John’s cock and he groaned.

“And you think you will here?” He recovered, fingers digging a bit harder into Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock flashed him a wicked smirk. “I know I will.”

John stood up quickly and used the advantage of surprise to whirl Sherlock around and push him back onto the bed. He already looked like pure sin spread out on the sheets, John was going to have a hell of a time keeping sane this weekend. “Two can play this game, Mr. Holmes.” He warned and leaned over the other man.

Sherlock grinned and put his hands on John’s side, pulling him onto him. “I certainly hope so.”

John gave up and kissed him then, deeply, until just the slide of their tongues was enough to make them moan into each other’s mouths.

He pulled away and moved back until he could stand. “Food?” He asked.

Sherlock nodded, his eyes were dark.

The food was beyond excellent as was the wine Sherlock had asked for. John drank both glasses Sherlock poured him without argument and he managed, for the most part, not to think of Willa.

She’d spent the night away at Mycroft’s before, the opportunity to stay at friend’s houses hadn’t come up yet, but this was different. He wasn’t at Baker Street obsessively cleaning the flat until he fell asleep and could wake to go get her. He was in a posh hotel with a gorgeous man who’d made it clear he planned to use the entire weekend for nothing particularly productive.

“Shower.” Sherlock told him as soon as he’d cleared away their dinner.

John laughed. “Well aren’t you bossy.”

Sherlock smiled at him from the chair he was in. “No, I’m reminding you of a promise you agreed to.”

John paused in the archway to where the bedroom was. “What’s that?”

Sherlock stood and walked over. “We have the time now and I plan to taste every inch of you.”

The heat from his voice traveled straight down John’s spine. “Haven’t you done that already?” If he hadn’t then he had certainly come close.

Sherlock shook his head. “I plan to be fully coherent for this. Now go shower.”

“You’re not coming in with me?” John asked thinking of his earlier daydream.

Sherlock shook his head. “Fully coherent.”

John showered as quickly as he could manage. When he came out, towel wrapped around his hips, he found Sherlock lounging on the bed stripped down to black silk pants. They weren’t new and John had seen them dozens of times but the sight still made his mouth water.

“Lay down.” Sherlock told him as he stood.

“God you really are serious about this aren’t you?” John asked even as he was shedding his towel and moving to lay down.

Sherlock stopped him with a hand. “Across, on your front. And of course I’m serious”

John followed Sherlock’s directions but not without a bit of eyerolling. Despite having been in the army he wasn’t exactly fond of people telling him what to do. He always forgave Sherlock for it though.

“Relax.” Sherlock said and the bed shifted under his weight.

John suppressed a chuckle when Sherlock unceremoniously buried his head into his hair, he briefly felt the other man’s tongue press to his scalp in a part he had made with his nose. The urge to chuckle disappeared when Sherlock moved behind his ear, his tongue coming out and dragging down the crease of it before lingering at the joint of his jaw. Sherlock nipped him gently and John sighed, melting into the bed.

Sherlock moved down to his neck, paying special attention to the spaces between his vertebrae. He nipped and sucked along John’s right shoulder hard enough in some places to leave marks. When he traveled along his left Sherlock immediately dropped down to the gunshot wound. He spent a long time there tracing the scar with his tongue, whirling it around in the center where the most scar tissue sat. John bit down on the urge to shiver. Anytime John had his shirt off Sherlock was drawn to the scar like a moth to the flame constantly kissing and touching it.

When he finally got his fill of the scar he moved to the other side. He kissed and licked and sucked his way down John’s back until John was certain there really wasn’t a centimeter he hadn’t tasted. John was half hard by this point and floating. It was nice, not necessarily erotic but intimate and romantic in a way only Sherlock could pull off.

Then there was a set of teeth sunk into the meat of John’s arse, he yelped and jumped. The bed shifted and John could no longer feel the warmth of Sherlock draped over him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Sherlock staring down, no doubt, at the mark he’d just made.

When he sensed John looking he smirked and reached up to push his head back down towards the mattress.

John did chuckle then and shook his head. Sherlock leaned back down and traced his tongue around the shape of John’s arse from his lower back to the top of his thigh and then back again. He mirrored it on the other side. When Sherlock’s hands came up to part the muscles of his arse John buried his head into the mattress, having a feeling as to where this was going.

He’d done it to Sherlock once already but this was something entirely new for John, not even something that he’d experienced in university.

Sherlock did not disappoint. He ran his tongue precisely from the top to the bottom, stopping just short of John’s perineum. His tongue teasing passed over the ring of muscles and John’s hand twitched around the sheets in an effort not to shiver. Sherlock worked his tongue back to the muscle and gently circled it.

John was literally gripping the sheets to not moan or writhe backwards towards the teasing tongue. Sherlock kept at it, softly and gently teasing him. Then suddenly he pressed his tongue in and John moaned and bit at the sheets.

A set of teeth embedded themselves at the top of his thigh. “No.”  Sherlock said, his voice was sharp.

“No what?” John asked after spitting out the fabric.

“I want to hear you.” Sherlock answered softly, the breath from his words brushing against John’s arse.

John nodded. “Yes, fine.” Anything to get Sherlock to continue.

Sherlock went back to the teasing, punishment for John’s audacity to muffle his cries. Until, again, without warning he pressed his tongue into the ring of muscle.

John learned his lesson and resisted the inborn desire to bury his head into the mattress as he moan. Sherlock rewarded him by continuing.

He stayed there, fucking John with his tongue, until John had given in and was attempting to writhe back against the assault. Sherlock’s hands were pinning John’s hips down keeping him from thrusting backward and from rutting into the mattress. By now his cock had begun paying full attention to the proceedings.

When Sherlock finally moved on John keened at the loss.

Sherlock moved methodically down first, his right thigh, stopping to pay attention to the joint behind John’s knee. John had always known how sensitive that spot was, particularly in hand to hand combat, but he’d never experienced how erotic it was. Already wound up from the rimming he moaned and thrust into the mattress. Sherlock then continued down again, biting softly at the Achilles tendon.

He traced the sole of John’s foot with his tongue, taking a quick moment to lick a stripe up his arch, and then darted it between each of his toes. John was left with the distinct urge to squirm, or giggle, or moan and his body couldn’t decide which it wanted to do. When Sherlock switched to the left side John did squirm which caused him to moan from the friction of his cock against the sheets.

He traveled back up this side in much the same fashion as the first. When he reached John’s arse he nipped at it again and shifted back.

“Turn over.” Sherlock told him. John realized now that the other man wasn’t entirely unaffected by these proceedings.

As he rolled over he saw that Sherlock was hard. John reached out at hand to touch him but then Sherlock slapped it away, hard.

“No.” He warned.

“Why not?” John challenged.

“You said you’d let me do this. You’re distracting enough as it is I don’t need you doing… that.” Sherlock told him.

John smirked. “Afraid you’ll be distracted?” He asked and reach out again.

Sherlock lunged forward and pinned his hands up near his head. “I will tie you down.” He threatened, his voice rough and deep.

John smirked again when he noticed Sherlock had managed to angle his hips as far away as possible. “Promise?”

Sherlock growled. “ _You_ promised me this, now behave.”

John sighed and opened his hands in capitulation.

“Good.” Sherlock said and then moved back down towards John’s feet. As he mimicked his earlier actions, now on the top of the foot and alternating sides, John realized there was a downfall to this position. On his stomach he’d been able to rut into the mattress but now there wasn’t even that.

Sherlock gave a wide berth to John’s cock and balls as he licked and kissed his way up him. He was alternating sides every few inches and it left John feeling dizzy, not being able to focus on a singular side.

John’s fingernails bit into his palms with the effort to restrain himself from threading them through Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock found John’s stomach, licking a reverse of his favorite path through the trail of hair that led down to his cock. About half way up he trailed off to the right and his tongue found a scar even older than John’s bullet wound. He nudged it with his nose.

“This?” Sherlock asked.

“I got mugged when I was seventeen, fought the wanker off and got a penknife to the gut for my troubles.” John told him.

Sherlock made a distressed noise and then buried his entire face in the spot. “You should really stop getting hurt.”

“Hello, pot, I’m kettle.” John said and lifted his head enough to give Sherlock a pointed look.

Sherlock ignored him in favor of continuing his path up John’s chest.

While Sherlock had stayed clear of John’s cock he didn’t feel the same compulsion for his nipples. He flicked his tongue over them relentlessly until John had thrown his head back and was arching off the mattress to chase Sherlock’s mouth with his body. When Sherlock scraped his teeth over one of the already engorged buds John hissed.

“God damn you, you horrible bastard.” He hissed but his words had no meaning as he thrust into empty air.

Sherlock’s nips became softer when he traveled up his neck, respecting John’s need to go out in public in a few days. When he delved into John’s mouth it could hardly be considered a kiss. John found it best to just leave his mouth open so Sherlock could run his tongue over every last centimeter he could reach.

John’s eyes had fluttered shut and when Sherlock kissed over them he made a sound. “No.”

“Why?” John could hear the pout in Sherlock’s tone.

“Maybe later but not now.” He compromised and he felt Sherlock nod against him.

Sherlock then turned his attentions to John’s arms. He finished his exploration by sucking each of his fingers into his mouth. John was moaning loudly by the time he finished, cock twitching with interest.

~~~~~~

Sherlock sat back on his knees and released the last of John’s fingers from between his lips.

He felt dazed and giddy, it was very nearly like being high. He’d just tasted every centimeter (he’d overlook the eyeball thing for now) of John Watson’s body.

 _John Watson_ had just let him taste every part of his body with almost no complaint.

Sherlock now knew John in a way he was certain no one else in the world did.

John’s eyes opened and blinked at him, then he huffed out a breath.

Sherlock wondered if he knew how gorgeous he was right now. Most likely not, he realized. John, the man who hid himself under jumpers at nearly all times, had no idea how perfect he was to Sherlock.

Right now he was gorgeous and flushed, molded into the bed. His hair was mussed from running hands through it and his chest and cheeks were flushed with arousal. He was watching Sherlock with blown eyes.

He looked perfect and pliant.

Sherlock loved it but realized immediately this wasn’t exactly what he wanted now.

“Sherlock.” John said drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked.

“I believe you’ve forgotten somewhere.” John said and crudely motioned toward his straining cock.

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. “I already have extensive data on that region.”

That did the trick.

John growled, his hands flying up and catching Sherlock’s shoulders. He pulled him down until he could slide his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and then tugged him firmly up towards his face.

John kissed him fiercely. Biting and licking his way into Sherlock’s mouth, fingers still wound in his hair.

“Sherlock.” John said when he finally released him.

“John.” Sherlock panted.

“You do not get to do that and then tell me you’re not interested in my cock.” John told him firmly.

“I never said I wasn’t interested in your cock. I said I had sufficient data on how it tasted.” Sherlock corrected.

“Alright.” John said slowly. “Then what do you want to do now?”

“I want to ride you.” Sherlock said breathily at the mental image it conjured up.

John’s reaction, the widening of his already blown pupils and the quickening of his pulse, was enough to make Sherlock shudder with anticipation.

“Oh god yes.” John breathed and then pulled him down again into a crushing kiss. “I want something from you, then.” John whispered when they broke apart.

“Anything.” Sherlock said before he’d even thought of it. He realized then that he would give anything to John.

“Get the lube you bastard.” John told him, his fingertips twitching against Sherlock’s scalp. “I want to watch you prep yourself.”

Sherlock felt his own eyes widen and he scrambled back off the bed to retrieve the lube so quickly John didn’t have time to unwind his hands. The pulled hair burned Sherlock’s scalp in a delicious way.

John propped himself up on his elbows, eyes following Sherlock across the room where he dug through his bag for the brand new bottle of lube he’d purchased that morning. There were a few other new items stored in the bottom of his as well but they could be saved for another time.

Sherlock walked back over to the bed and took a deep breath. He put one knee up onto the side of the bed, the other leg still planted on the floor and then opened the bottle. After pouring some onto his fingers he tossed it up onto the bed near John’s hip.

Slowly he pressed one finger into himself. He looked up to find John watching his face, intent and hungry. Sherlock kept eye contact as he leisurely began fucking the finger into himself. He carried on for far longer than necessary.

He moaned when he added the second finger. He watched John’s cock twitched at the noise, a bead of precome dripping onto John’s stomach. Sherlock pressed the fingers in and out all under John’s steady gaze. He scissored his fingers apart and moaned, John echoed him.

“A third.” John ordered. His tone was a mix of Captian Watson and his sex voice.

Sherlock obeyed hastily.

As he pressed the third finger inside he dropped his chin to his chest, finally breaking the eye contact. “John.” He moaned.

John let out a strangled growl and grabbed the lube.

Sherlock lifted his eyes again, now rocking back on his own fingers, to watch as John stroked the lube onto his cock.

They watched each other until it was John that broke.

“Get up here.” He ordered.

Sherlock gladly removed his hand and crawled up John’s body. John wrapped a hand around his cock to steady it, the other one coming to rest on Sherlock’s hips.

Sherlock slowly sank down onto him.

They hadn’t done this yet and Sherlock was forced to move slowly, the angle much deeper than he was used to. Once he was seated fully, both of John’s hands on his hips now, he let out a low moan.

They stayed still, both of them panting from the effort of remaining motionless, until Sherlock leaned forward just slightly and planted his hands on John’s chest.

He began rocking his hips, thrusting himself back onto John’s cock.

John cried out first, head thrown back. “Fuck, Sherlock.”

Sherlocked had worked them up to a steady rhythm. It wasn’t enough to get either of them off but enough to build the tension. Sherlock’s cock was leaking, untouched, onto John’s stomach mingling with the other man’s come there.

He felt John’s legs shift and dug his fingers in in anticipation.

John held tight to Sherlock’s hips and then tilted his own. Sherlock didn’t need to look back to see he’d planted his heels into the bed. The first thrust from John was a direct hit to his prostate and Sherlock cried out loudly and without dignity.

This only served to spur John on. He was relentlessly driving himself into Sherlock until he was clinging to John’s shoulders crying out with every thrust.

“Oh god your gorgeous like this.” John ground out. “You’re face. Fuck. You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Sherlock could only moan in response.

“Fuck, I wanna see your face when you come like this.” John told him and rocked up hard.

Sherlock began thrusting back to meet him in earnest. He was seeing stars and was so hard he could barely see straight but John was still muttering filthy things to him and pounding into him relentlessly.

He came hard and with John’s name on his lips, repeating like a mantra.

John only let up slightly still pressing into his prostate, milking him for everything he could give and then some. Just as Sherlock was about to beg him to stop, that it was too much, John came. His fingernails digging so hard into his hips that there would be blood.

Sherlock collapsed onto John’s chest as they came down, John was panting heavily.

Gently John eased them onto their sides and slipped out. Sherlock locked his leg around his hip to keep him in place otherwise.

“Holy fuck.” John panted after a moment.

“Indeed.” Sherlock nodded.

“You came untouched.” John said in awe.

“Yes.” He agreed.

John laughed, throat raw. “Holy fuck.”

He pulled away after a moment and then came back with a warm wet flannel to clean them up with. John cleaned himself and then pushed Sherlock back over to his back. He was so gentle and tender as he cleaned Sherlock. It was a whole other level of intimate and Sherlock had to squeeze his eyes shut against the onslaught emotions.

“Are you alright?” John asked when he crawled back into the bed. He argued the duvet over them even in their awkward position.

“Perfect.”

“Sure? It was a little intense there at the end.” John said hesitantly.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his partner. “John, I would have said something if you were hurting me.”

“Yeah?” John asked.

“Yes.” Sherlock confirmed and kissed him softly.

They eventually made it into the bathtub that night, together. It was a treat for both of them fit at the same time. They didn’t have sex but John pulled Sherlock back against him and they laid there talking until John began nodding off and the water cooled after the third warm up.

They spent a majority of Saturday in the room, leaving for only a few hours to explore the grounds on John’s suggestion. A great deal of the time was spent in the suite, in bed, not just for sex, but also for lazing around and kissing each other languidly. A luxery they normally did not have between their jobs and the active six-year-old.

Willa called Saturday night a mercifully caught them at a down moment.

“Hello.” John greeted as he answered the call from Mycroft’s home.

Sherlock couldn’t hear the person on the other end but John grinned.

“Hello, princess.” He said.

Sherlock leaned over and pulled the phone from his face, ignoring John’s swats. He pressed the speaker button.

“I’m sorry lovely what was that?” John asked Willa once he realized what Sherlock was doing.

“I said I’m having fun.” Willa repeated

“I’m glad to hear it.” John told her. “You’re on speaker, say hello to Sherlock.”

“Hello, Sherlock.” She called through the phone.

Sherlock found himself smiling too. “Hello, Willa.”

They chatted for another ten minutes before Willa hung up to go play something with Addison.

“It’s stupid but I _have_ missed her, it’s only been a day I know.” John admitted once he put his phone away.

Sherlock nodded. “As have I.”

John smiled brightly and then kissed him softly.

On Sunday, which was actually Valentine’s Day, they had a romantic lunch instead of dinner. They still had to pick up Willa that night and return to the real world tomorrow.

Lunch left them just enough time to make use of the shower before they left. John was delighted at the bench seat under one of the water jets. His mouth filthier than usual when Sherlock rode him there. It was enough to make Sherlock flush and his cock even harder.

John kissed Sherlock soundly just before they checked out. “We have got to do this again.” He told him.

Willa was eating supper when they got to Mycroft’s but she bounded from the table with a cry when she saw them.

“Daddy!” She cried and launched at John.

John caught her and then lifted her up to hug her tightly. She clung to him for a second before twisting away and half climbing out of his arms into Sherlock’s.

As Sherlock hugged her he found he’d missed her more than realized.

Not that a sex weekend with John hadn’t been splendid but there was a sense of calm he felt with Willa in his arms and John standing next to him. It was something he hadn’t noticed before now.

“What did you do?” Willa asked.

John managed to only blanch for a second. “Mostly stayed in bed and watched telly.”

“That’s boring. Sherlock, weren’t you bored?” She asked him.

“Ah... no. It was relaxing.” He replied diplomatically.

Mycroft gagged around the food he was eating and had to swallow it down with some of his water. Sherlock kissed Willa’s cheek as he set her down for unknowingly causing her uncle great discomfort.

“I’m glad your weekend was… relaxing.” Greg said with a knowing smirk.

“It truly was.” John said. “But alas, back to the real world we go.”

The real world indeed found them later that week.

“Oh what the hell!” John cried from the living room on Thursday.

Sherlock wandered into the room to find John sitting behind his laptop looking extremely unhappy at whatever was on the screen.

“Yes?” He asked.

John sighed and turned the screen so he could read.

_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Spend Romantic Holiday in London_

Sherlock pulled the computer away and skimmed through the article. It was short but included phrases such as “overheard intimate moments” and “confirmation of long speculated romance”.

“Why are they interested?” He asked as he returned the computer to John.

John looked up at him in surprise. “Sherlock they’ve been circling like vultures since you got back to London. Did you not know that?”

Sherlock sat. “Have they? I try to stay away from the news.”

John didn’t bother to ask why, they both knew.

“Yes. It’s mostly been small articles and of course they caught wind of your help with the Soda Slayer case.” John explained.

Sherlock groaned. “That’s not actually what you’ve decided to call that is it?”

John shrugged. “Might be.”

“Don’t. Also you don’t even get this paper why are you on here?” Sherlock questioned as he gestured to the screen.

“I get an email whenever a news site mentions you.” John said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Stop fretting, does the public knowing really bother you?”

John shook his head. “Not really but…” He trailed off.

“Willa.” Sherlock realized and John nodded.

“I’ll text my brother and have him issue a blackout on her.” Sherlock said and pulled out his phone.

“We’ve got one. The press snooped for a while after you disappeared but yeah, it might be good for him to remind them.” John agreed and then shut his laptop.

Sherlock was composing the message when his phone rang.

“Mycroft.” Sherlock answered.

“Have you seen the paper?” Mycroft asked.

“John just showed me. Please remind the press that any harassment or publication of Willa is expressly forbidden.” Sherlock instructed him.

“I’m working on it now and we’ll set up further security around the school for the time being.” Mycroft told him. “Nothing will be printed and if someone attempts to publish anything about her they will run the risk of disappearing.”

“Good.” Sherlock said and hung up the phone.

He nodded at John who didn’t look any more relieved. “I knew they were watching.” John said after a moment.

“Do you regret going?” Sherlock asked feeling guilty. His ignorance of the press had led to him putting them in a compromising position.

John shook his head. “No, I just wish these vultures would learn to leave well enough alone.” He stood and squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder. “I’m going to call the school and warn them. Thank god they’ve already got some high press kids there.”

Sherlock nodded absently and hoped that this wouldn’t get any worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know how to make smut humorous/tedious? Edit it.  
> Seriously. My editing technique involves forcing the automated Microsoft voice to read me back my works. Making Microsoft Sam (look I know it's not called that anymore but it'll always be Sam) say words like 'fuck' and 'cock' is both the highlight and lowlight of my day.
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sdfhksfhklsjfdlkklxnzxcn,zdfwdwiedjfakc  
> In other news I watched The Lying Detective.  
> sidfhsncsdkf;owejfsdflkksv

The press stayed away from Willa for which Sherlock and John were thankful. A few more articles were written about them but for the most part the press lost interest when they weren’t provided with any more information. It helped, of course, that there was a new juicier scandal involving some heiress and nude photographs.

The only good thing the press had done was to renew public interest in Sherlock as a consulting detective.

John posted his write up of the Thallium murders, which he insisted on calling the ‘Soda Slayings’, just days after the original article about their romantic weekend was published. The combination of those two things had the hits on the blog skyrocketing during the last week of February. In March the traffic of private clients picked up.

Most everything was too dull to even consider. Cheating spouses, thieving flatmates, and several missing pets. There had been a suspected murder for inheritance that had caught his attention for two days. It turned out that the middle aged son had become a terrible gambler and lost most of his money, in an effort to continue his habits he decided murdering his ailing mother was the best solution. His sister was rightfully suspicious of the whole thing and emailed Sherlock.

John came home the evening after Sherlock had solved that small mystery with a stack of papers in his hand.

“They want me to go to a bloody training next month.” John said and threw down the papers.

Sherlock glanced up to him. “Alright?”

“No.” John huffed and ripped off his coat. “I apparently was ‘negligent’ on the upkeep of my medical knowledge last year and now must do twice the amount of trainings this year.” There were air quotes and everything.

“You used to like getting away for training.” Sherlock reminded him though starting to lose interest in the topic.

“Yes, but they weren’t in Cardiff for three days.” John hissed.

Sherlock took one of the papers off the top of the pile and glanced at it. “Will you be going?”

John deflated. “If I want to keep my job I have to.”

Sherlock shrugged and tossed the paper back. “You don’t really need it.”

“Yes, if you want me to remain sane, I think I do. Besides with as many cases as you dismiss for being ‘dull’ you know we could go months without a paying client.” John told him and gently tapped his head.

Sherlock was about to turn back to scanning the paper for anything of interest when he thought of something. “Willa?”

“She’ll stay here with you if that’s alright.” John told him, head half in the refrigerator where he was searching out something to eat.

“Of course.” Sherlock agreed quickly.

“That means you’ll have to be case free for three days.” John paused what he was doing and amended. “Well no major cases, anyway.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I will make sure I’m available so you can go spend your days in Cardiff.”

John growled.

Their lives had developed into a routine that they managed to stick to, for the most part.

John took Willa to school every morning and Sherlock usually slept in or went to sleep if he’d been up late. When John didn’t work he would return home and usually crawl back into bed until Sherlock woke for the day, then they would spend the rest of the day working on cases or doing things around the flat until it was time for school to let out.

On the days John worked Sherlock would pick Willa up from school, it made more sense than John trying to rush through patients at the end of the day. On Monday and Friday her tutor (who Sherlock only barely managed to tolerate) would be waiting for them when they got home and on Wednesday they went to her French teacher’s house.

Sherlock had been surprised when he realized how much he enjoyed the routine and a little concerned. Having a routine meant they were predictable and easy to track. John tried to assure him he was being ridiculous and that, aside from Mary’s malingering presence, they didn’t have anyone to be concerned with anymore.

Near the middle of March John called Sherlock from work only a few hours after he’d left.

“Are you busy?”

“No, why?” Sherlock answered. He wasn’t exactly telling the truth, he _was_ in the middle of an experiment involving hydrochloric acid and tissue samples but it was rare for John to call him like this.

“The school called. Willa’s complaining of a headache and asking to come home.” John explained in a rushed way. “I told them one of us would come and it’s sort of crazy here.”

Sherlock immediately began clearing away his work. “I’ll go.”

Willa was curled up on one of the chairs in the office when he got there, she looked absolutely miserable. She wasn’t warm to the touch but flinched when he spoke. He lowered his voice to carry out his conversation with the secretary.

“What’s wrong?” He asked after he’d climbed into the cab with her.

“My head hurts.” Willa whined and buried her face into his shirt. She was also obviously congested.

Once they got home Willa looked around and frowned. “Where’s daddy?”

“John’s still at work.” Sherlock informed her as he searched the medicine cabinet for the thermometer.

When he stepped out it was clear Willa was fighting back tears. Sherlock cursed when he realized she’d been asking _for_ John and not about him. She was still just a child and wanted her father when ill.

“Alright come here.” Sherlock said and put the thermometer down for later. He carried her into his bedroom, he dug through John’s drawers until he found a plain t-shirt. He handed it over to Willa.

“Go change, you can lay in here.” He told her and she disappeared into the bathroom.

He pulled the curtains shut to block out the light and then got out his phone.

_Home. Headache and congested. – SH_

He sent to John as she came back out. He settled her into John’s side of the bed and became concerned enough to get the children’s pain reliever when she turned down watching movies on the laptop.

John messaged back after he administered the medication and took her temperature, which was thankfully normal.

_Tired? Fever?_

_Tired. No fever. – SH_

_Might be her allergies. Benadryl in the cupboard._

Sherlock took that to mean John wanted her to have some. Willa accepted it passively and then promptly fell asleep.

Sherlock didn’t want to leave the bedroom so he set himself up with the laptop in the space next to her. He checked his email and found a few more boring cases, one of which he solved as soon as he read it.

At noon he heard footsteps on the stairs. It wasn’t John or Mrs. Hudson. Pulling himself out of the room Sherlock shut the door and went to see who it was.

Lestrade was about to knock on the door into the flat when Sherlock found him.

“Yes?” He asked.

“I need your help.” Lestrade said and held up a file folder.

Sherlock shook his head. “Sorry, can’t.”

“Come on you haven’t even heard what it is.” Lestrade protested raising his voice.

Sherlock shook his head. “Busy. Go away now.”

Lestrade refused to budge. “You came out of the bedroom, you’re not busy.”

Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. “Fine, Willa’s sick. Now go away.”

Lestrade’s resolve softened when he said that. “Ah. She alright?”

“Allergies.” Sherlock shrugged though he found himself looking at the folder Lestrade had intended to give him.

“Yeah, she gets a rough time of it.” Lestrade said knowingly but he held out the folder to Sherlock. “Look just take a look at it.”

Sherlock accepted the folder and opened it. “It’s a missing person.” He said and then rolled his eyes and shut it. “You don’t do missing persons unless of course someone from the British government hands you a file.”

Lestrade groaned. “Look, he uses his omniscient powers to find us a poisoner in a haystack, the least you can do is help.”

“He handed it to you though.” Sherlock said and tried to pass back the file.

“No, he brought it to my attention. The Yard is on it anyway, a missing heiress is big news, I’ve just used my seniority to insert myself into the case.” Lestrade said and refused to take it back.

“And my brother cares why?” Sherlock huffed and let his arm drop finally.

Lestrade shrugged. “Do you think if I asked him he’d give me a straight answer?”

Sherlock shook his head. “Fine, I’ll look at it.”

Isabelle Durant twenty-three had been missing for just over three days. She was the only child of Sidney Durant who owned hundreds of computer processor plants in Europe and Asia.

Isabelle fancied herself an actress and had had a number of small rolls on television but mostly seemed to enjoy partying. She’d recently had a number of nude photos leak to the press and instead of being mortified it only encouraged her antics further. She had recently been rumored to have agreed to pose for an adult magazine.

She’d last been seen by her boyfriend and manager on the evening of the thirteenth though no one reported her missing until the fifteenth when she didn’t show up for a massage she had scheduled.

Lestrade was still standing in the hall watching him. “I said I’d look at it. I can’t _do_ anything until John gets home.”

Lestrade nodded. “Alright, just call me if you figure something out.”

Sherlock went into the bedroom and Willa was still asleep. He read through the file once again and nothing of interest jumped out at him so he resorted to the internet.

The first search immediately yielded the leaked nude photographs. Sherlock scrolled by them, uninterested. It was unlikely she’d disappear out of shame after spending weeks enjoying the fame her scandal had leant her.

The girl had been in the press with her father since she’d been a preteen and she enjoyed every moment of it.

The photographs documented her growth from a short brunette child with glasses to the surgically augmented, bottle blond, twenty-three year old of today. She’d gone from long tasteful gowns, obviously chosen by her father, to bodycon dresses in her teens. By eighteen she’d adapted what she was trying to turn into her signature look, a ridiculously long red silk scarf that trailed on the ground behind her in all of the photographs.

Running away from it all wasn’t her style which led Sherlock to agree with the Yard’s postulation that there had been foul play involved in her disappearance. He’d have to talk to the boyfriend, the most likely suspect.

There was nothing more he could do while at home so he shut the file and laid down with Willa.

~~~~~~

John managed to leave early, concerned when Sherlock hadn’t answered his text asking for an update. A quick check of the camera in Willa’s room told him if she was laying down it wasn’t up there. He tried to tell himself that he wasn’t worried, if anything bad had happened someone would have called him. Mycroft certainly would have known.

The flat was quiet when he got home. John found them in the bedroom, both of them asleep.

He smiled fondly and then crept around to Sherlock’s side of the bed. Kneeling on it he pressed a kiss into the other man’s hair.

Sherlock stirred only slightly. “I’m awake.” He mumbled.

It was such a difference from three months ago when John had nearly had his wrist broken while trying to wake him.

“It looks like it.” John agreed softly. “How is she?”

“Tired.” Sherlock answered sounding more awake this time.

John chuckled but kept his voice down. “Yes, you said she was before you gave her the allergy medicine, so of course she is now. Though I didn’t know it would work on you too.”

Sherlock slowly untangled himself from Willa and rolled onto his back. “I was bored.”

John nodded and kissed Sherlock’s lips properly. “So you took a nap?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe if you went to bed every night like a normal person.” John teased and he couldn’t resist kissing him again.

Sherlock ignored him. “You’re home early.”

“I was worried.” John admitted. “But now we need to wake her up. Mostly so she’ll sleep tonight but also so I can check her over.”

John got off the bed and walked back around to Willa. He pulled the covers back and chuckled softly when he saw her wearing one of his shirts. He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock.

“She wanted you.” Sherlock explained with a shrug.

John smiled and then gently shook his daughter awake. Willa was groggy but very happy to see him.

“How’s your head?” He asked her as they went into the kitchen.

“Only hurts a little.” She answered and climbed up onto the table anticipating what John was going to do.

Sherlock leaned against the refrigerator, watching as John put his bag onto the table.

“It’s allergies.” John pronounced after he’d done his check of Willa. “She’s headed towards a sinus infection, hence the headache, but until it gets there I won’t treat for it.”

Sherlock nodded.

“In the meantime, you can have an ice lolly since your throat is sore.” John told Willa and she climbed off the table heading straight for the freezer.

John washed his hands and then went over to Sherlock who was still watching her closely. He intentionally stepped into his line of sight and kissed him. “Thank you for getting her today.”

“Lestrade came by with a case.” Sherlock told him.

“Anything interesting?”

“That Isabella girl from the news.” Sherlock said, sounding bored.

“She’s missing right?” John had seen some of the coverage playing on the television in the waiting room.

Sherlock nodded. “Scotland Yard believes there’s foul play involved and it’s apparently interesting to my brother because he asked Lestrade to look into it.”

John raised an eyebrow at this. “Why in god’s name is your brother interested in this?”

“Her father I think, who knows.” Sherlock said and threw his hands up. “It’s not entirely dull though.”

“But you opted to take a nap with Willa instead of solving it?” John asked surprised.

“I need to go look at her flat.” Sherlock said and evaded his question.

Sherlock left shortly after that to go look around the girl’s flat. John stayed home with Willa who, after some medicine, seemed alright.

During dinner, which Sherlock missed, he got a text from Harry.

**_It’s your birthday soon._ **

_Yes._

**_Are we going out again this year?_ **

_I hadn’t thought about it._

**_Where do you want to go?_ **

_Angelo’s?_

**_You go there every year!_ **

_Because I like it, so does Willa._

**_Alright. I’ll call closer to get the info_ **

John shook his head. His birthday was at the end of the month and one of the three yearly occasions he and Harry interacted. Harry came for dinner on Willa’s birthday, they went out for John’s and Harry picked either at her flat or out for her birthday. Fortunately or unfortunately all of their birthdays fell between January and June. So while he had to see her three times in six months he also got a six month reprieve from her.

He and Harry had never been close, even growing up. She was the one to push all the buttons and break all the rules. John for the most part managed to keep himself out of trouble. Her drinking didn’t help any and despite all the constant claims to want to quit she never managed. He found if he just contented himself with the fact she managed sobriety three nights a year it made his life easier.

Sherlock returned home after Willa went to bed in a huff.

“No luck?” John asked.

“None.” Sherlock spat in disgust. “She left her flat of her own free will, though of course it was hard to tell because the morons at the yard had dug around it.”

“Boyfriend next?” John asked and gestured to the file he’d found in the bedroom.

Sherlock nodded. “You’ve read it?”

“We can go tomorrow.” John said and stood.

“What about Willa?” Sherlock asked skeptically.

“She’ll be at school.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “Are you sure?”

John laughed. “I am glad you weren’t here in September. She actually threw up twice. But yes, I’m sure. She’ll get her allergy meds in the morning.”

Greer Fisher was nearly the same age as John but exceedingly more wealthy, which explained the twenty-three year old girlfriend. John didn’t think he looked like the type to make his girlfriend disappear but he’d long learned not to entirely trust those feelings.

“I’ve told the police. Belle came over Saturday and when I left she was asleep in our bed.” Greer protested, he sounded exhausted.

John watched as Sherlock slowly turned from where he was inspecting Greer’s bookshelves. “You’ve only just returned.”

Greer nodded. “Yes. I got in last night the police insisted I return to the country because of this whole mess. Knowing Belle they’ll find her in Monaco with alcohol poisoning in a few days.”

“You’re upset they interrupted your time with the mistress.” Sherlock said dryly.

John was confused but said nothing.

“Excuse me?” Greer raged

“In any other scenario Isabelle would have been the mistress but no your mistress is older, most likely as old as you are going by her perfume, not someone a celebrity manager would be dating.” Sherlock clarified for them.

John paused a moment to inhale. He picked up on the traces of perfume Sherlock was talking about. It was floral and subtle, definitely something he would attribute to a mature woman.

Greer sighed. “Listen Isabelle is gorgeous and her ti-.”

John cleared his throat. Both Sherlock and Greer turned looked at him.

“Right. She’s gorgeous but she couldn’t tell you the difference between George Orwell and George Gershwin.” Greer said as if that explained things.

“So you cheated because she was boring?” John asked and found himself not surprised. “What? Did she find out so you killed her?”

Greer let out and exasperated growl. “No! She was in our bed _alive_ when I left on Saturday. I swear.”

“Our bed.” Sherlock said lifting his head. “You keep saying our bed like she lives here.”

Greer shrugged. “She does.”

“No, she’s got her own flat.” John contradicted him.

“No, well yes. She keeps that flat because her father would die if he knew she was living here, but we bought this together a couple months ago. It kept him happy thinking she was still living on her own…”

“And Mr. Durant happy meant Isabelle kept getting her father’s money.” John finished for him.

“This is a very nice flat, Mr. Fisher.” Sherlock interjected suddenly.

“Uh. Thank you. This is mostly Belle. She completely redid the flat when we bought it, turned an entire bedroom upstairs into a closet for herself.” Greer said stumbling valiantly through the mental whiplash Sherlock had imposed with his sudden topic change.

“But the master is on the first floor?” Sherlock asked even though he was already across the room flinging open the doors to said room.

Sherlock peeked his head into the bedroom and then promptly turned and bolted up the stairs. John had no idea what Sherlock was up to.

“What? Where is he going?” Greer cried and both he and John chased after him.

“John.” Sherlock called as they got up the stairs. “I believe it’s best if Mr. Fisher does not come in here.”

John was about to ask why when an all too familiar smell assaulted his nose. He turned to Fisher who’d fallen behind him in their assent of the stairs. “Mr. Fisher please stay here.”

John then turned and ran down the hall to find Sherlock standing just inside what amounted to a massive walk in closet. His eyes found Isabelle almost as soon as he walked in behind him.

“Oh Christ.” He cursed and then covered his mouth and nose.

Isabelle Durant was hanging limply from what appeared to be a rotating clothing rack, a red scarf tangled in the mechanism.

There was the sound of retching from behind them as Greer Fisher decided not to heed John’s advice to stay behind.

“She’d been dead the whole time.” John called to Sherlock as he showered that afternoon, finally having broken away from the police and there collecting of the body.

Greg had been called to the scene but it was clear there’d been no foul play. Only a tragic accidental hanging. Greer Fisher had to be taken away and treated for shock.

“Yes.” Sherlock agreed. He’d already showered and gotten the lingering smell of seventy-two hour old corpse out of his skin. “Now please hurry up. I need to stop somewhere before we get Willa.”

John sighed. Sherlock had come a very very long way in understanding human emotion but most of the time he still managed to remain objectively distanced from their cases. It wasn’t like John became attached to every single one but the idea of that girl’s body having been unfound for four days was unsettling. Everyone had just assumed she’d run off to find a bigger and better party.

At first John hadn’t paid attention to what Sherlock had gotten on their little side trip to get Willa, he’d stayed in the car. Admittedly it took him two weeks to catch on to what Sherlock was up to.

Willa was eating toast before school when he noticed it. “You’ve been eating honey on toast every morning. Is that your new favorite?” He asked absently when he walked out to find her at the table.

She shrugged. “Sherlock’s made it for me.”

John paused and realized then, Sherlock had in fact been up and made breakfast for Willa every morning which was a little out of their usual routine.

“Sherlock, why’ve you been making Willa toast and honey every morning?” John called down the hallway to the bedroom.

He assumed Sherlock was already asleep until there was a shuffling noise and the other man appeared in the doorway. “She doesn’t mind it, do you Willa?”

Willa shrugged and continued eating, clearly she didn’t.

“Yeah but why? She’s got like four boxes of cereal, not to mention the cereal bars.” John asked again.

Sherlock came into the kitchen and grabbed the container of honey and set it down in front of John. It was the honey he’d gotten the day they found Isabelle Durant hanging inside her own closet, except a large portion was already missing.

“This is raw.” John said, realization dawning. “You’ve been giving her raw honey.”

Sherlock nodded. “I promise you she’s not going to come down with botulism. It’s for her allergies.”

John looked up. “What?”

“Her allergies.” Sherlock repeated.

John fully grasped the situation now and laughed. “Oh my god, you’ve been giving her local honey for her allergies.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his laughter. “Yes, frankly I’m surprised you hadn’t thought of it.”

“Sherlock, there’s not enough evidence to support it even does anything.” John said and tried to stifle his laughter behind his hand.

“There is plenty of anecdotal evidence and besides not enough actual studies have been done on the subject.” Sherlock protested sounding offended at John’s laughter.

“Alright, alright.” John said and raised his hands in surrender. “You can keep giving her honey if it makes you feel better.”

Sherlock still looked put out. “You’re mocking me.” He pouted.

John rose from his seat and he felt badly for laughing. He walked over to Sherlock and grabbed his arms. “I’m not mocking you. I’m just… it’s very sweet of you.” He said and leaned up to kiss him.

Sherlock resisted at first, his ego still hurt, but then he leaned into it.

Willa made a gagging noise behind them.

A few days later they met Harry at Angelo’s for John’s birthday dinner. Sherlock was still tense being near the woman but John and Willa acted as a decent barrier between the two of them. Nothing terribly awkward occurred until halfway into the meal.

“So you’ve seen the shit those papers were writing? What were you two there for then? A case?” Harry asked.

John set down his fork, confused. “What?”

“Valentine’s weekend.” Harry clarified.

John cursed inwardly when he realized he’d never updated Harry as to the status of his and Sherlock’s relationship. “Uh no actually.” He said.

“What?” Harry asked, it was her turn to be confused now.

“We weren’t there for a case. We were there for the holiday.” John said and cleared his throat.

Harry’s eyes widened comically. “But,” her head whipped between Sherlock and him, “you’re straight.” She said to John.

John shook his head. “No.”

“But you’ve always been straight.” Harry repeated. “That was you. The good one. Straight as a line in everything.”

“No.”

“So what your marria-“

Sherlock dropped his fork and it clattered loudly, John sent him a thankful smile. Sherlock nodded.

“I’m not straight, nor am I gay… I just am.” John said after thinking it through for a moment.

“So your what? Bi?” Harry pushed.

John wasn’t sure why she, of all people, was having such a hard time with this.

It could have been that everyone else who knew had seen him and Sherlock dance around each other for the past eleven years. They were all too busy sighing in relief to bother to ask technical questions like ‘are you gay?’

“I guess if we feel the need to label it.” John agreed.

Harry shook her head. “Seriously? And you’re with him?” She jabbed her finger at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked offended at her tone.

“Yes, Harry, I’m with Sherlock.” John said in a low voice, it was an effort to quiet her down.

“What about Willa?” Harry asked. Willa, who had been watching the whole exchange like a tennis match, suddenly shrank into John’s side.

“Willa is perfectly fine.” Sherlock answered before John could, having deciphered the meaning of her question first. “John is her father and has decided I will not be a negative influence on her.”

“So, what he helps take care of her?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Well yeah.” John said wondering if Sherlock had been wrong, if Harry had been drinking earlier. “He’s fantastic with her and it’s actually really nice to have a second parent. I get why it’s usually done in pairs now.”

At that comment Sherlock’s entire face lit up. It made the entire awkward conversation, and the ensuing tense remainder of dinner, worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isabelle Durant was based closely of of Isadora Duncan who accidentally hung herself with her giant scarf in the spokes of an automobile. The rotating closet was because my parents just installed them at their house and I was like "someone is gunna die from that"
> 
>  
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was terrible to write. This is the fourth (?) version. Also I'd like to thank BBC for giving me inspiration for something. :)
> 
> ALSO freaking look at that I'm over 80k words. *swoons*

John nearly laughed at the palpable relief on Sherlock’s face when he informed him that he’d never perpetuated the Easter bunny myth.

“I figured I had enough on my plate keeping up with father Christmas.” John said as they laid in bed the Saturday before Easter.

“Good, a fictional man is one thing, an oversized rabbit who delivers eggs is just insulting to children.” Sherlock insisted.

John did chuckle then and buried his face in Sherlock’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t mean we won’t be doing Easter lunch with your brother.” He reminded him after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

Sherlock sighed heavily. “Really, John? We’re not even religious, what’s the point?”

“The point is seeing family every now and then.” John said and poked him. When Sherlock opened his mouth to protest John cut him off. “Seeing them when it’s completely unrelated to working.”

Sherlock’s mouth snapped shut and he pouted.

“Really Sherlock.” John chided. “It’s just lunch.”

John managed to get Sherlock and Willa out of the house without being too late. Sherlock had dug his heels in and Willa in a show of solidarity had joined his protests. John had only won her over by promising that Teddy would be there. She abandoned Sherlock after that which left him following them, sulking.

Willa and Addison very nearly kidnapped Teddy from Molly the second they saw him. At eight weeks into parenting, Molly was willing to hover to the side and let them.

“Lamb, Mycroft? Isn’t that a bit sacrilegious?” Sherlock asked as they entered the dining room for lunch. John had to agree, then again, he’d been raised in a household under C and E rule.

“Hard to be sacrilegious when one isn’t actually religious, brother, besides it is tradition.” Mycroft told them.

“Pagan.” Sherlock deduced.

“Quite. I assumed it would rather appeal to your humors.” Mycroft said. It apparently did because Sherlock ate without further complaint.

After lunch, and after the girls and David had raided their piles of chocolates, Mycroft led them towards the front of the building. He had a spring in his step that amused John to no end but had Sherlock rolling his eyes.

“He’s up to something, you do know that, right?” Sherlock whispered into his ear.

John swatted at his shoulder. “Of course he’s up to something.”

Greg took that opportunity to appear next to them. “Yeah, about this. It was his idea.”

Both John and Sherlock looked at him but Greg didn’t explain, instead he brushed by them to catch up with Mycroft.

“Normally we get the children several smaller items for Easter.” Mycroft explained, blocking the front door.

John never had to wonder if the theatrical nature was hereditary, all he had to do was look at how both Mycroft and Sherlock lived their lives. He saw Molly grin at him from the corner of his eye, obviously thinking the same thing.

“This year we thought it might go better if we got them each one larger gift.” Greg interrupted Mycroft’s speech. Mycroft didn’t look too put out, he simply nodded.

“So that being said,” Mycroft now directed his speech to the three children who could pay attention. “We hope you enjoy.”

Outside in the drive, which had been empty when they arrived, were the children’s gifts: two bicycles, a dirt bike, and a very gorgeous old fashioned pram.

“A bicycle?” John asked as the girls squealed and darted towards them. It was obvious just by the size which one belonged to which girl but the smaller one also had training wheels. John had honestly never thought to buy Willa a bike, which was stupid because he used to bike everywhere.

“For real?” David shouted, the teenage stoicism melting away as he practically salivated over the bike.

“You won’t be driving that until you’ve had lessons.” Greg warned him but David wasn’t listening.

Mycroft finally looked at John and answered. “Neither girl had a bicycle and David’s been begging for a motorbike for years. And Molly.” Mycroft called and turned to her, she was eyeing the pram.

“Yes?” She asked.

“I do hope you don’t mind but I know that you aren’t fond of the pushchair you’ve gotten for Theodore.” Mycroft said and gestured towards the pram.

Greg let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘creepy.’ John had to turn his head so he didn’t laugh.

Molly looked shocked. “H-how… never mind. But really this is for us?” She stuttered deciding it was best not to know _how_ Mycroft had known they settled.

“Of course.” Mycroft told her.

“You really didn’t have to.” Molly protested but she was already over at it, running her hands over the handles. “But this is exactly what I had wanted, thank you.”

Greg shrugged. “We were getting the other kids bikes, Teddy needed something with wheels too.” He rationalized.

Helmets had been purchased as well and soon the girls were on their bikes. Willa was trying valiantly to keep up with Addison but she had the disadvantage of inexperience. Of course, the fact that they were both still in their Easter dresses didn’t help any.

David was too busy taking dozens of photos of his dirt bike to be too upset that he couldn’t ride it yet.

Molly had laid Teddy in the pram and was rocking him in it, talking quietly to Aaron.

John took advantage of the moment and leaned over towards Greg. “How’s the custody case going?”

Greg groaned. “We’ve had the first hearing. Deb was out for blood.”

“Really?” John asked, though he wasn’t surprised. Deborah might not have been the best parent, but she honestly tried to love her children.

“Yeah, she doesn’t think it’s fair. I tried telling her that fair isn’t parading a new boyfriend around the kids every other week.” Greg said in a low tone, not wanting to be over heard by the children. “Did you know she actually tried to make Addy call one of them dad?”

John was shocked. “Really? That’s awful.”

Greg nodded. “I’ve been married nearly two years and if they want to call him Mycroft for the rest of their lives we’re fine with it.”

“Was that the last straw then?” John asked. He’d not gotten the full story as to why Greg had, after five years of the same custody agreement, decided to fight for its change.

Greg nodded. “Yeah. I just want it over though. Mycroft thinks there won’t need to be anymore hearings.”

Sherlock snorted.

Greg sighed. “I don’t want to hear it, Sherlock. If he’s doing something illegal just leave me out of it.”

“Are you stupid enough to think Mycroft would be-”

“Sherlock.” John said in warning, cutting the other man off.

Sherlock stopped and he looked over at the two of them and then out at the girls. “Hmm I think I’ll go help Willa.”

John chuckled and shook his head. “That’s his new get out of jail free card.”

Greg grinned. “He’s good with her.”

“Yeah he really is.” John agreed.

Willa begged them to go out on her bike every day after she got it. Sherlock was the one who often gave in and would drag her and it to the park. John was impressed at the speed in which she was picking it up but going out nearly every day would do that.

John was not looking forward to his trainings. The scheduling of them meant he had to leave the afternoon before they even started and he hated having to be away any longer than necessary.

It had nothing to do with Sherlock or his abilities to take care of Willa, John knew they would be just fine. It had everything to do with John and the fact that until this trip the longest he’d been away from Willa was their weekend in February. This trip would see him leaving Sunday afternoon and getting back Wednesday afternoon.

He was entirely grateful that Sherlock was willing to stay home with Willa while he was away, it was one less thing for John to fret over.

“Well that’s finished with.” Sherlock announced when he came into the flat late the Thursday before John’s training.

“What is?” John asked, he was half asleep.

“My cases. No more cases until you get back.” Sherlock said and leaned down to kiss him. John squirmed away from his cold nose.

“Thank you.” He mumbled. “You know you didn’t have to stop taking cases for the week. Just nothing that would keep you from getting Willa from school.”

“I know but I never know when it’s going to become urgent. Some of the most boring cases have turned spectacularly interesting.” Sherlock explained as he stripped down for bed.

“You’re good at this you know?” John told him as he watched sleepily.

Sherlock turned and looked to him questioningly.

“Parenting. You’re good at being a parent.” John explained. Sherlock’s face only turned more confused. “You do realize you’ve been Willa’s second parent basically since you came back, right?”

“Have I?” Sherlock asked surprised.

John snorted and shook his head. “Yes, you spectacularly ignorant man.”

“I’m not meant to be a parent, John.” Sherlock said quietly as he slid into the bed.

John turned to face him. “But you are anyway and you’re very good at it, she loves you.”

Sherlock looked startled at that but then whatever was going on inside that brilliant brain of his caused the look to soften. “I love her too.”

“I know”

“We’ll be fine.” Willa cried out and squirmed away from John’s kiss, perhaps it was the fourth since they arrived at the station.

Sherlock stood behind her smirking. John growled and attacked him much the same way. Sherlock, though, did not protest or try to move away. Instead he returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm.

“We’ll be fine.” Sherlock echoed when they broke apart.

John nodded and looked over his shoulder towards the train. “I don’t _really_ need to go.”

“John, it’s Cardiff. Not Afghanistan.” Sherlock told him brusquely. If it had been anyone else saying that John might have punched them in the face but Sherlock didn’t mean it the way other’s might have.

“Alright. I’m going.” John said and leaned forward to kiss him once again. Willa skillfully darted away from the kiss he meant to plant on her.

She did however stand next to Sherlock, his hand in hers, and wave at him.

_I miss you._

John made it exactly three hours before sending the text. He’d noted the time he got on the train and made sure to wait at least three hours. At least… if not exactly.

_We’re fine. – SH_

_I know. You know it’s not you right?_

John felt compelled to reassure Sherlock that it wasn’t leaving him with Willa that he was having difficulty with. Sherlock appeared to understand.

_I know. You’d never have left if it were anyone else watching her. – SH_

Sherlock refused to answer John’s text for another hour, by which point John was checking into the hotel. It was surprisingly nice considering it had been set up through work. It had wifi which was arguably the only thing John cared about during this trip.

He’d taken the laptop, _his_ laptop, with him. Sherlock had argued until John reminded him that there was a perfectly good computer in the office. John’s boredom on this trip was more important than Sherlock’s unwillingness to go downstairs.

John left the room and went down to find food just as soon as he’d thrown his bags down. It was weird eating dinner alone.

_What are you having?_

_Haggis. – SH_

_Haha. Really though?_

_Lasagna. I think it’s in her hair. – SH_

John chuckled at the mental image of Willa getting red sauce in her hair, at least it wouldn’t look too out of place.

Sherlock sent him a photo of the tidied up kitchen sink as John walked back to his room. He’d lingered downstairs longer than it necessarily took him to finish his dinner.

There was still a few hours until Willa’s bedtime, which Sherlock had promised to call him for, so John mindlessly channel hopped. Once it was clear that wasn’t going to hold his attention for much longer he got up and showered.

He was restless being on his own. It was different than his few glorious moments of peace at Baker Street. There, no doubt the second he got bored then he could find Sherlock or Willa or even Mrs. Hudson to talk to. He was already texting Sherlock incessantly, there was no one else.

At 9:03 just as he was dressing after his shower his computer began ringing. John smiled when he saw an incoming video call from Sherlock.

“Hello lovelies.” He said when Sherlock and Willa’s faces appeared on the screen. They were up in her room.

“Hello daddy!” Willa answered happily, leaning over so he could see most of her and waving.

“John.” Sherlock greeted him.

John just grinned at the both of them on the screen, not caring if he looked like a sentimental old fool.

“We’ve picked Shakespeare tonight.” Sherlock informed him after giving him a moment to look.

John laughed. Willa bounced between typically childish books and things even John as an adult had very little interest in.

“And what have we chosen?” John asked. He was expecting Romeo and Juliet or even Hamlet, as Sherlock had that on the shelves (he suspected it was the Yorick bit) but he was not expecting what Sherlock held up in front of the laptop.

“All’s Well That Ends Well.” Sherlock informed him peering at the computer from behind the book.

John muffled a laugh behind his hand at Sherlock’s look. John was beginning to suspect Willa knew which works drove him mad and sometimes chose them on purpose. Sherlock tried to hard not to show his feelings about them but they were always abundantly clear.

The camera bounced around a bit, showing John a very lovely view of the ceiling, until coming to rest on both Sherlock and Willa sitting on her bed. The laptop was obviously on Sherlock’s lap because he had one arm around Willa and the other hand holding the book.

“Act 1, scene 1. Rousillon. The Count’s palace.” Sherlock began.

John leaned his head on his hands and listened. They made it all the way through scene 1 before Willa’s head began to drop onto Sherlock’s shoulder, her eyes growing heavy.

“I think that’s enough.” John said softly.

Sherlock nodded and began untangling himself from Willa. Once she was laying down the laptop moved to rest on the side of the bed to face her.

“Good night, little one.” John said smiling at his sleepy-eyed daughter.

“Night, daddy.” She yawned at him.

“I’ll talk to you later John.” Sherlock said and that was his only warning before the video feed cut out.

John sighed and only felt a little guilty when he called up the video monitor from Willa’s room. Sure enough Sherlock was now standing by the side of the bed, pulling the covers up under her chin and talking softly to her. He watched even after Sherlock left the room as she snuggled down into her bed.

He kept watching until her breathing evened out and soft snores were picked up by the microphone.

_Did you know her camera has a log of who’s viewing it? – SH_

_That’s nice._

John smiled to himself as he finally shut his laptop and turned to look at the hotel bed. It wasn’t really that early and he had to manage his way through the trainings tomorrow.

Just as he was reaching for the remote to turn on the television his phone vibrated on the table next to him.

“I miss you.” Sherlock said as soon as John connected to the call, before he’d even had a chance to say hello. His voice was rushed and quiet, like he wasn’t sure he really wanted to be saying it.

“Do you? Well good because I miss you to.” John told him.

“Of course you do, you’re you. The bed doesn’t feel right without you.”

John closed his eyes and smiled to himself. “I guess we’ve spent at least some part of every day in bed together for over three months, we’re bound to be used to it now.”

“It takes twenty-one days to create a habit.” Sherlock informed him conversationally.

“Why are you in bed?” John asked looking at the clock next to the bed, making sure he was correct as to the time.

“Nothing else to do.”

“You could always clean the living room.” John teased.

John felt he did well on Monday, he only texted Sherlock during the break for lunch. Of course he hadn’t actually had reception in the conference room they were all stuffed into, which he’d learned when he tried to text ten minutes after it started. He only spoke to Willa after she left school and before bed. John read to her that night after he found the play transcript online. Sherlock nearly fell asleep in bed with her.

On Tuesday they’d moved to another room. This one had reception. He managed an entire hour before texting Sherlock. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind though and kept the conversation going, the only major gap between texts was when he went to pick Willa up. Willa then somehow ended up with the phone and spent an hour texting John, refusing to answer when he called.

John left them alone when Sherlock said he was heating dinner, realizing he should find his own food.

There was a pub not far from the hotel and John figured it wouldn’t be so bad. A pint and a burger, hopefully some sort of game was on even if it was a replay. It would be nice to be around people since he hadn’t spoken to anyone really during the conference. All he could think of when he had down time was texting Sherlock or how long it was until he could go home.

John found the pub and located a quiet corner where he could still see the telly. The pint was nice and the burger was decent but he still found himself texting Sherlock. He decided sending him a photo of proof that he was eating wasn’t terribly pathetic. Willa had asked if he was eating after all.

_You’re out? – SH_

_Yes. I’m not a complete recluse._

_Only a partial one. – SH_

John grinned at the text and Sherlock’s teasing, at least he was working under the assumption it was a tease.

“Is it alright if I sit here?” A woman asked startling him.

“No, it’s really not.” John said, not bothering to look up at her from his next text.

_You’re the one who hates going out for anything. If anyone’s the recluse it’s you._

Just as he hit send John heard her slide into the booth with him anyway. He looked up and sighed, this really wasn’t how he wanted to spend his evening.

~~~~~~

Sherlock smiled at John’s text. He’d been increasingly chatty all day and a small part of Sherlock’s brain was wondering if he’d be able to talk John into phone sex tonight. Or hell, even a mutual wank over video chat.

Willa cleared her throat and Sherlock schooled his startled reaction. She was standing in front of him holding out two toys.

After John’s suggestion Sunday night, Sherlock really _had_ spent most of Monday cleaning the living room and the kitchen. He’d even gone so far as to move furniture to hoover beneath it. Mrs. Hudson had been concerned enough for the well being of the flat that she appeared with afternoon tea as a cover to check he hadn’t done something stupid. Sherlock had just needed something to occupy his time with.

It wasn’t that he’d never spent the day alone, he was always on his own when John worked. On those days though he would go down to the office and look for a new case or work on an old one. He wasn’t allowing himself that luxury right now. He was worried he’d become too involved in a case and forget to leave when it was time to get Willa. While he’d never forgotten her before John was always around to get her if he had ever truly needed or forgotten.

Now John was in Wales and Sherlock was truly on his own to do this. He had to do it right or else John’s anxiety would never allow him to leave Willa again. That wasn’t a viable option.

When Willa got home Monday night she surveyed the state of the kitchen and living room. “We should do our bedrooms next, as a surprise for daddy.” She suggested.

“I’ll do my room tomorrow while you’re at school and we can do your’s in the afternoon.” Sherlock agreed.

Sherlock and John’s room was tidy for the most part but there was an air of chaos about it. Sherlock’s things had been haphazardly shoved into the room around John’s. Now he had a chance to distribute everything evenly and finally have a place for all of his things again and if he liberated John from a few of his more hideous jumpers it was all for the better. Once he was finished he was surprised at the small thrill of seeing all of their things coexisting so nicely.

Willa’s room was more of a task than he had anticipated. It was easy to overlook the mess as a typical child’s room but when he really looked at it, it was daunting. Willa had the equivalent of a toy store and a half crammed into her room. Sherlock realized there was no way to properly clean the room without binning at least some of it.

“We’ll have to get rid of some of it.” He had told her.

Willa bit her lip and surveyed the room, suddenly uncertain in her decision to clear the room.

“We’ll donate anything that’s still good to a charity shop.” He said after a moment.

This had her nodding and moving into the room. John’s altruistic values had clearly been instilled in her.

Sherlock took the two toys and looked at them before putting them each in the charity bag. It was the second charity bag and there was a rubbish bag nearly full. Luckily they were almost finished, only having to go through her writing desk.This was good seeing as it was getting closer to bed and she still needed a wash, especially since she’d been crawling through dust.

John didn’t text for the rest of the evening.

Sherlock hoped he hadn’t gotten drunk at the pub, it would be difficult to deal with that from all the way in London.

When they settled into Willa’s bed, her wet hair soaking through the sleeve of his shirt, Sherlock made sure to keep the camera focused on them and the wall. Willa wanted the clean flat to be a surprise for John.

It took several rings before the video call connected.

John wasn’t drunk which was a good thing, Sherlock wasn’t sure how he’d explain that to Willa. Instead he was still wearing his jacket, hair mussed like he’d been running his hands through it repeatedly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

John nodded and waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.” He then turned a false cheery smile on. “Hello, princess, did you just get out of the bath?”

Willa nodded. “Yes, Sherlock said if we braid my hair tonight it’ll be very wavy in the morning.”

John laughed.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him in the camera but was unwilling to say anything about the blatant lie in front of Willa.

John held up a book. “I found this for you at the shop earlier.” He told Willa, ignoring Sherlock’s glares.

Willa grinned excitedly. “The Silver Crown.” She read leaning close to the screen to see it.

John nodded. “Would you like me to start it tonight?” He asked.

John read them two chapters and Willa begged for a third until he pointed out she was meant to be asleep already. He had relaxed part of the way through the first chapter and had remembered to remove his coat by the second.

“I’m coming home tomorrow, you can have it and read it all you want then.” John told her, smiling at her enthusiasm.

Willa nodded then. “Alright.”

“I love you, goodnight Willa.” John said.

“I love you too, Daddy.” Willa chirped back.

Once Sherlock had shut the laptop and settled Willa back into the bed she was yawning. “Do you think daddy will be happy about my room?” She asked

Sherlock smiled. “Of course he will. I think he’ll be very surprised though.”

Willa nodded, eyes already heavy. “Good, he looked sad tonight.”

Sherlock kissed her forehead and finished tucking her in. He and John both always seemed to forget just how well she read people. Sherlock had never been that natural at it, he’d only perfected it as a means to further his abilities of deduction. For Willa it seemed almost a sixth sense.

He waited a few minutes once he got downstairs. He opened the laptop back up and went into the usage tracking for the security camera in her room. Sure enough, an ISP from Wales was currently active.

Sherlock smiled at John’s predictability and dialed him.

John answered. “Hello and why yes I was watching her sleep.”

Sherlock snorted. “I’m aware. Are you alright?”

John hesitated on the other end. “I’m fine just very tired, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Sherlock paused as he turned out the living room light. “John…”

“Look Sherlock, like I said I’m really very tired. I just want a shower and bed. Do you mind if I do that? I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.” John interrupted him before he could say anything else.

Sherlock turned off the kitchen light with more force than necessary. “No go ahead.” He made sure John knew he wasn’t buying John’s claims of being okay.

“Thank you. Goodnight, Sherlock.” John said.

“Goodnight.” Sherlock said brusquely.

He was about to stab the end call button when he heard John’s voice again. “Sherlock…”

“What?” He snapped.

John sighed. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Sherlock said because even if he was annoyed at John right now he did truly love him.

John messaged him before Sherlock had even dropped Willa off at school, apologizing for being so tired the night before.

The next time he messaged was during lunch. Apparently, he’d been stuck back in the conference room with no reception for their final day. Sherlock didn’t try to bring up the previous night, John would be home later that afternoon and he could drag out whatever was bothering him then.

Just after Sherlock had dropped the charity bags off his phone rang. He had, given the time, expected it to be John letting him know he was done and would be heading for the train in a little. Instead it was Willa’s school. It was odd because she’d been fine that morning and the pollen count wasn’t high enough to cause her problems through her medicine.

“Sherlock Holmes?” He answered.

“Mr. Holmes we’ve been trying to reach Doctor Watson and we can’t get him on his mobile or at the clinic.” It was Doctor Drescher, she sounded worried and she hadn’t even introduced herself which immediately caused Sherlock to worry.

“Is Willa okay?” He asked.

“She fell on the playground, we’ve had to send her to A and E in an ambulance.” Drescher admitted after only a second of hesitation.

“Doctor Watson is in Cardiff.” Sherlock told her, already searching for a cab. “Where is she?”

“Saint Mary’s.” She told him and then Sherlock hung up on her.

Mycroft answered quickly.

“I assume you know what’s going on.” Sherlock said as he glared at the cabbie in the rearview mirror, silently urging him to go faster.

“Yes, I was just alerted.” Mycroft said.

“John’s in a conference we can’t get him.” Sherlock explained. He was sure Mycroft knew that already too, but he was explaining mostly so he wouldn’t kick the back of the cabbie’s seat.

“I’ve called the hotel and sent someone for him.”

Sherlock sighed in relief and hung up.

He barely waited for the cab to stop and tossed a few pounds at the cabbie before darting into the A and E. He approached the nurse at the front desk, luckily she wasn’t with anyone not that that would have stopped him from interrupting.

“I’m looking for Willa Watson.” He told her and her eyes went wide as she nodded.

“Yes, of course this way.” She said and stood to lead him back towards the exam rooms.

Sherlock had expected a few more questions and perhaps some resistance to letting him back to see her. Given her reaction there was a very good possibility Mycroft had anticipated this as well and called ahead.

Sherlock heard the crying several feet from the door and he immediately passed the nurse now knowing where he was going.

“Get out.” He snarled at the other person in the room who turned out to be Mr. West.

Mr. West looked startled but made a very wise decision in not arguing. The nurse stood in the door way now.

“Oh Willa.” Sherlock said as he looked at her. She was crying, a pile of tissues was building up near her leg. There were scrapes on the right side of her head and her right arm was in a splint hidden beneath a sling.

“Sherlock.” She cried and reached her good arm out towards him.

Sherlock went forward and very carefully hugged her. She buried her face in his jacket, still crying. He wasn’t as bothered by the thought of mucous on his Belstaff as he had once been, at least not from Willa. He stroked her head and pressed a kiss into it, mindful of the injuries.

“What happened?” He said turning his head to look at the nurse.

She looked startled under the force of his gaze. “She fell off the equipment at the playground. According to her teacher she lost consciousness for a little over a minute, we believe her arm to be fractured but she needs to go up for x-ray.”

Sherlock pulled Willa a little closer to him. “I’ll be going up with her.”

The nurse seemed hesitant and she took a step back out of the room before opening her mouth to say something, no doubt to contradict him.

Sherlock cut her off. “Whatever you were told I will be ten times worse than that. This is my child and I will be going to any test with her until her father gets back into London. So I suggest you and the rest of the staff here do not argue with me on it.”

Willa was clearly in pain and scared, there was no way he was leaving her alone with strangers.

The nurse wisely nodded. “I’ll inform the doctor.”

Sherlock managed to get Willa to stop crying just in time for them to want her in radiology. She remained stoic through the trip to the room, gripping his hand tightly with her uninjured arm. When they removed the splint Sherlock had to school his face, knowing she was watching his reaction.

The bone hadn’t pierced the skin but the break was extremely obvious.

She began crying again when they straightened her arm for the x-rays and Sherlock wanted to yell at them but he bit down on the inside of his cheek. It wouldn’t do to frighten Willa anymore.

Once they were done they splinted her arm up and tucked it inside the sling again. Sherlock considered the risks of carrying Willa and decided despite his need to calm her it was best if he didn’t. Though once they were back in the room he settled onto the bed and let her sit in his lap, her injured side turned out to keep it safe.

Not long after there was a commotion in the hall and then John appeared in the doorway.

“Oh thank god.” John said and looked ready to collapse.

Willa’s eyes snapped open, Sherlock had been sure not to let her sleep yet, given the blow to the head but she’d been resting anyway.

“What happened?” John asked as he came over to them on the bed.

“Playground. It’s definitely broken and she hit her head, lost consciousness so probably a concussion.” Sherlock explained.

John gingerly hugged Willa and kissed her forehead before leaning up and kissing Sherlock. Sherlock could see his pulse throbbing in his neck.

“Are you alright?” He asked.

“No, but I will be.” John admitted and his eyes darted down to Willa.

Sherlock nodded.

“Willa, what happened?” John asked as he pulled the funduscope off the wall and came back to them.

“I was on the monkey bars and I missed.” Willa said. She didn’t argue as John examined her eyes.

He was having her track the light when someone cleared their throat behind them. “We generally ask that you leave the examinations to the professionals.”

Sherlock winced at how fast John straightened to look at the doctor standing in the doorway behind them. Provoking John like that while he wasn’t in a good mood was not a great idea, of course the doctor honestly didn’t know that.

Sherlock watched as John’s jaw ticked as he made an effort not to do anything.

“I’m Doctor Trayford.” The man said eyeing the funduscope John still held in his hand. “And you are?”

“ _Doctor_ Watson.” John ground out and he very carefully put the scope back and took a step towards Doctor Trayford.

Despite the fact that Doctor Trayford had at least fifteen centimeters on John he took a step back, perhaps now realizing he’d made a mistake. “I apologize Doctor Watson I was unaware.”

John nodded. “She’s had x-rays?”

Doctor Trayford nodded, relieved to have something to discuss. “Yes, complete fracture of the right radius. It’ll need to be set before we can cast it. We can do a closed reduction.”

Willa was watching them with wide eyes and Sherlock pet her hair trying to reassure her.

John’s mouth tightened. “Sedation with the concussion?”

“Neurology will do an exam but you know it’s the only option in terms of pain management.” Doctor Treyford said and then he looked over at Sherlock and quickly added. “Of course you and your partner can be with her the entire time.”

John spoke to the doctor some more while Sherlock continued to hold Willa. There was a knot in his gut as he listened to them.

“Why did he say we could stay like that?” John asked once he left.

Sherlock carefully shrugged. “I might have scared a nurse when she planned to argue against me going up to radiology with Willa.”

John snorted. “Thank god for you.” He said and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead.

Willa was cleared for general anesthesia and Sherlock and John took up either side of the bed and stroked her hair as she fell asleep. The nurse, a different one from the woman Sherlock had startled, smiled at them.

“First big injury?” She asked.

John nodded. “That obvious?” He went around to Sherlock’s side to allow the doctor access to her injured arm.

The nurse chuckled. “She’ll be fine.”

They watched quietly as the doctor set her arm, John’s hand found Sherlock’s when the he began pressing it back into place. After setting it they worked on casting it, they’d asked Willa what color as a distraction while they placed the IV in her arm. She unsurprisingly chose pink.

“You’re brother.” John began quietly as they waited for the cast to dry. “Someone came and pulled me from the room and told me Willa was at the hospital and there was a helicopter waiting for me. Nothing else just ‘your daughter’s in the hospital and here’s a ride to London.’”

Sherlock sighed at his brother’s oversight, he tugged John’s arm to move him so he could hug him. “I’m sorry. No wonder you were so worried.”

John leaned into the hug. “I thought something had seriously happened. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

Sherlock hugged tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

John tilted his head up. “Sherlock, you’re not feeling guilty over this are you?”

Sherlock didn’t answer and turned to look at Willa.

“Oh Sherlock.” John sighed and reached up to force Sherlock to look at him. “She fell. Its what children do. They fall and they break something. She was also at _school_ when it happened, there was literally nothing you could have done.”

Sherlock knew John was right and John assuring him he didn’t blame him helped loosen the knot in his stomach.

“Besides, this actually went pretty well, at least until she chucked herself off a jungle gym.” John said. “Which she would have done even if I were home.”

Sherlock huffed a laugh. “She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

“Not even in the slightest.” John agreed.

Willa was released a few hours later with the standard concussion warnings and a hot pink cast. No one complained when all three of them piled into the bed that night. John claimed it was because it would be easier to wake her to administer the pain medication. Sherlock didn’t even try to make an excuse for it, he just wanted her with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm super mean to Willa but it's all for continuation of the plot. This helps further what happens in the next chapter which might be the last one for this story. If it's not the last it will definitely be the second to last one.  
> Also I was setting it up to be a bike accident but I just could NOT do that to Sherlock since it would have happened at home. So she did exactly what one of my children did and knocked herself silly on the playground. So this is medically accurate in terms of what happened with that which might not apply elsewhere in the world. *shrug*
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slightly longer than usual delay in chapters. The real world hasn't been exactly kind to me.  
> I know I said this was the last chapter but I couldn't do all I wanted in one go so this is the SECOND to last chapter. I'm posting the final chapter as well, since I've already written it out.

John was at the surgery three weeks after Willa’s fall when he got a phone call from the school. He naturally panicked and stepped away from a patient to take the call.

“Doctor Watson.” He answered because it was weird to answer the phone any other way at the surgery.

“Doctor Watson, it’s Doctor Drescher.”

He cut her off before she could say anything else. “Is Willa okay?”

“Yes. She’s doing well.” The head teacher told him but her voice was just off enough that he wasn’t put at ease.

“Is there something else wrong?”

Doctor Drescher inhaled deeply, clearly preparing herself for whatever she was going to say. “Doctor Watson, a classmate of Willa’s, Noah Wolfe, passed away this weekend.”

John froze. “That’s terrible.”

“Yes it is.” She agreed. “We’re going to be having an assembly this afternoon to let the children know and we’re calling to invite parents to come if they feel their child might need extra emotional support.”

John nodded even though she couldn’t see. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

She told him all the little details and when they hung up John was left standing in the hall feeling… numb. He finished up with his patient before seeking out one of the other doctors to ask if they could cover the rest of his patients.

She nodded and gave him a sympathetic look when he explained the situation.

John wasn’t sure how Willa was going to take the news. She knew Noah, hell they played together enough that John had met the boy a few times in the school yard when picking her up. The only death Willa had experienced in her life was the death of the goldfish she’d won at a festival when she was three. That was in no way comparable to how she’d feel over the death of a friend.

_Willa’s friend died._

_How? – SH_

_I’m not sure. They’re telling the students at an assembly this afternoon.  
They’ve invited parents to be there with their children._

_Are you able to get out of work? – SH_

_I’m already out. Could you come anyway?_

_Yes. – SH_

_Meet me for lunch near the school?_

John made it to the little café by the school first, not surprising if Sherlock had to come from Baker Street. He dropped into one of the little chairs and rested his head in his hands.

Sherlock appeared fifteen minutes later.

“Are you alright?” Sherlock asked and he reached out to pull John’s hand from his face.

John nodded. “I’m fine it’s just, you don’t expect a six year old to die. At least not one you know.”

Sherlock considered his answer before speaking. “The death of children evokes strong emotions even in strangers.”

John sighed. They worked on cases involving dead children in the past, none since Sherlock had come back, and Sherlock always managed to distance himself from the fact they were children. John had never been able to do that. Even before Willa’s birth John had never been able to look at the body of a child and detach himself from his feelings.

Once in Afghanistan there’d been a fire fight in the street of the town not far from the hospital he’d been stationed at. The locals had been overwhelmed in the aftermath and John had been called out to help. The first scene he’d stumbled upon had been a mother holding her child and rocking him, she was nearly catatonic and covered in blood. When John got closer he realized none of it was hers, instead it all belonged to the boy. He was maybe five and dead long before John got there.

Some nights, even long after all the other nightmares of war had faded, he was still able to hear her screams when he finally pulled the boy from her.

“John?” Sherlock reached out and nudged him as the food appeared.

John hadn’t realized he’d been thinking for so long. “Sorry. I just have trouble disassociating from children.”

Sherlock nodded knowingly, because _of course_ he knew John had trouble with the death of a child. “Was he ill?” Sherlock asked as he began eating part of the sandwich he’d ordered.

John shook his head. “Not seriously. He was diabetic, Willa was fascinated by his insulin pump for a while.”

“Wasn’t he the one with the divorcing parents?” Sherlock asked and John was surprised that he remembered that detail.

He nodded.

The air during the assembly was oppressive even before Doctor Drescher had said a word. The teachers did their best to keep themselves composed but even Doctor Drescher’s eyes were rimmed red, obviously having cried over the news. Willa sat in John’s lap and held Sherlock’s hand in hers, she could read the tension in all of the adults.

A few children cried at the news, mostly those from Willa’s class who had known Noah. A few more children were confused, those were the ones John knew had never dealt with death so close before. Willa’s face was blank and unreadable during the whole thing and John wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand or if she was just processing things.

John wasn’t the only parent who made the decision to take their child home straight from the assembly even though there was two school hours left.

Willa was unusually quiet for the rest of the evening but otherwise she seemed alright. John didn’t buy it for one minute and judging by the looks Sherlock was casting at her back, neither did he.

“Has she ever known anyone who’s died?” Sherlock asked as he came into their bedroom that night.

It was nearly one but John wasn’t able to sleep. He rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, he shook his head.

Sherlock made a thoughtful sound as he undressed.

“Do you think she understands it? Death I mean.” John asked his back.

Sherlock tilted his head, considering it for a moment. “She’s extremely intelligent.”

John nodded. “Yeah, but death is kind of… I don’t know, abstract. To exist one moment and then not, that’s difficult to grasp.”

“He’s not _not_ existing.” Sherlock corrected as he climbed into the bed.

John pushed himself onto his back and exhaled heavily. “But he _doesn’t_ exist. Not his personality or being or whatever. His body is still somewhere and exists but the boy he was, the boy who played games with Willa is gone, _he_ doesn’t exist anymore. That’s why we’re sad when people die because that spark of life, that bit that made them unique and brilliant, doesn’t exist anymore.”

“John.” Sherlock said and leaned over him. “It’s far too late to branch into that particular field of philosophy.”

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and dragged him down on top of himself. Sherlock’s body provided a comforting weight, a barrier against the rest of the world and even against his own thoughts.

“I know.”

Three days later Erik Wolfe was arrested for the murder of his son. John wasn’t able to finish his breakfast after seeing the headline in the paper. Sherlock had taken the paper from him after seeing his face, read the headline and then promptly binned it.

He and Sherlock had wordlessly agreed to keep the newest development from Willa. She still hadn’t cried yet. When they spoke about Noah and his death she would adapt a flat affect and it worried John to no end. Sherlock had disappeared after one such conversation and when he reappeared, an hour later, he’d purchased a book on grief for children.  

It sat untouched on the desk in the living room. Sherlock worried then too.

The funeral was held the following Tuesday and the entire school had been invited. All of the children were excused automatically if they were absent for the day. Noah’s mother had requested that those who attended didn’t wear black, instead she encouraged bright colors. Willa sat between John and Sherlock in a pew during the mass, she was wearing a bright orange dress John had chosen when she refused to do so.

There was a great divide at the graveyard.

Emma, Noah’s mother, was surrounded by her family as everyone stood around the too small casket perched above the earth. Then there was the father’s family, standing far off to the side. Even those from the school had cleared away from them. It angered John and he found himself fixating on it. It wasn’t like those people had killed Noah, they’d just been related to the man who had. They were not only grieving for their loved one but were also in shock over learning someone else they loved was a killer.

John went out of his way to offer his condolences to the older woman he assumed to be Noah’s paternal grandmother. He felt Emma’s glares as he walked away.

When they got back home Willa marched up the stairs with the same glassy eyed look she’d worn the whole day. John watched her retreating figure disappear up the stairs and worried.

Suddenly he found a glass pushed into his hands, Sherlock was holding its twin.

“Drink.” Sherlock instructed.

John did and enjoyed the burn of the bourbon sliding down his throat. After he finished, and Willa hadn’t returned downstairs, John went into the bedroom to change. Sherlock followed him.

“Why do we dress up for the dead, they’re dead they can’t see us?” Sherlock mumbled under his breath and he undid his shirt.

John sighed and leaned against the wardrobe. “This is hardly dressing nice for you Sherlock and because it’s respectful.”

“Did you dress nicely for my funeral?” Sherlock asked then.

John clenched his fist several times, knowing full well Sherlock could see him. “Yes, I did.” He answered finally.

Sherlock enveloped him into a hug. “I’m sorry.” He whispered into John’s ear.

John turned to wrap his arms around Sherlock and buried his face in his chest. They stood there like that for a while until finally John pushed him away to resume changing.

He’d only gotten his shirt unbuttoned when there was a thumping sound above their heads. He paused and looked up, confused as it continued. He glanced over at Sherlock about to ask him what the hell that was when Willa let out an almighty shriek.

Sherlock got to the stairs first, his long legs giving him an advantage, but John was close behind.

“Willa stop!” Sherlock shouted as they reached her room and John’s pulse hiked into dangerous levels. Sherlock never shouted at Willa.

John follow him in. Sherlock had her around the middle and was pulling her away from her desk.

The only word to describe Willa was feral. She was shrieking and struggling against Sherlock with her whole body. John couldn’t get anywhere near them because of how violently she was kicking.

“Willa stop, you need to stop.” John said loudly and tried to step forward. Her foot caught his rib and she continued nonetheless. He stepped back in pain, it was then he understood what she was saying.

“I want it off! Get it off!” She was shrieking over and over as she fought.

John was confused until he saw Sherlock was holding her broken arm far from her body. The cast looked like hell all of a sudden. He cursed when he realized that had been the cause of the thumping sound earlier.

 “For god’s sake. Willa STOP!” Sherlock barked suddenly.

She deflated at his sharp tone, her entire body going limp in his arms. She was no longer screaming but sharp rough sobs were escaping her mouth.

Sherlock slid to the floor with her still in his arms. John followed them to the floor and crawled towards them.

“She’s having a panic attack.” Sherlock told him unnecessarily.

“Yeah, I can see that, thanks.” John snapped and grabbed Willa’s good arm to take her pulse.

Her heart rate was through the roof and she had moved from sobbing to proper hyperventilation. “Willa I need you to breathe.” John said and cupped her face in his hands. “Can you do that for me?”

She nodded frantically into his hand, eyes wide with fear.

“In. One, two, three, four, five.” John counted. “Out. One, two, three, four, five.”

Sherlock pulled her flush against his chest, breathing with John’s cou1nting and encouraging her to do the same.

It took less than a minute for her pulse to drop from a less concerning level but John kept making her breathe. After five minutes her eyes began dropping and John stopped counting out her breaths for her. Another five minutes and she was asleep, still in Sherlock’s lap on the floor.

John collapsed onto his side despite the fact he knew getting up from the floor would be painful. “What the fuck?”

Sherlock had lifted Willa’s broken arm to check the damage done to the cast. John could tell that it would need replaced and she would need more x-rays to see if any damage had been done.

“Ah.” Sherlock exclaimed softly.

John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock carefully positioned her arm so John could see.

 _Noah Wolfe_ was scrawled in a child’s handwriting along the underside. The name had taken more damage than any other part of the cast, ‘Wolfe’ was barely legible anymore.

Willa slept in their room that night, curled between John and Sherlock. She insisted on touching them both all night long. Sherlock had tried to slide out of bed at eleven but even in her sleep Willa’s breathing sped up to the point Sherlock nearly threw himself back on the bed.

She went to work with John the next morning. He and a nurse x-rayed her arm, he heaved out a sigh of relief when he saw there was no further damage done. She picked blue this time.

~~~~~~

Sherlock paced the office, frustrated.

He’d been so confused the day before when he walked into Willa’s room as she was slamming her cast off the edge of her desk. It just wasn’t like her, she wasn’t a self-destructive child, but he didn’t have time to deduce what was going on. He’d had to stop her from hurting herself further.

Confusion turned to utter _fear_ when he felt her hummingbird heart slamming against his hands as he tried to hold her still. He hadn’t meant to shout but she wasn’t listening to either of them. John either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care, it was what finally caught her attention after all.

They’d known she wasn’t coping with her classmate’s death well, she was too ‘alright’ for a child who had lost a friend. He should have seen it coming when her eyes glazed over and she was nearly mute during the funeral. Willa was a great many things but mute was not one of them.

He didn’t see it though and he hated himself for that. Willa had suffered because he hadn’t been vigilant enough. Hadn’t paid enough attention when John’s child, who had a heart as large as her father’s but vastly more untarnished, began to withdraw emotionally after a tragic loss.

Sherlock was still pacing when he heard them get back home.

He gave up on the pretenses of working and climbed the stairs to see them. Willa’s arm was now covered in a baby blue cast.

“Hello.” Sherlock greeted them and lifted Willa up. “How is it?” He asked John and nodded to her arm.

Her pulse was steady and calm.

“No new damage, the old cast took all of it.” John said and Sherlock could tell he was pretending not to notice he was taking Willa’s pulse.

He carried her up the stairs and she didn’t protest, instead just leaned into Sherlock.

Willa agreed to sleep in her own room and this time it was Sherlock who pretended not to notice when John gave her a slightly higher than normal dose of Benadryl before bed. They both stayed in her room until she fell asleep, neither of them really knowing who’s benefit it was for.

They’d been downstairs for less than five minutes when the doorbell rang. Sherlock sunk down into his chair, he wanted to ignore it though no doubt it was a client.

“I’ll get it.” John volunteered softly and he went out of his way to lean down and kiss the top of Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock heard the door open and then the sound of John speaking to someone. Sherlock could tell by the pitch it wasn’t Lestrade.  What surprised him, though, was the sound of footsteps ascending on the stairs. John and the someone who had rang the bell.

John walked in followed by a familiar looking man. “Er, Sherlock this is Lukas Wolfe.” He introduced.

Sherlock stood when he realized he recognized Lukas from the funeral that day, he’d been one of the ostracized members of Erik’s family.

“It’s… well it’s not nice, but I guess there’s no other word for it, nice to meet you Mr. Holmes.” Lukas said as they shook hands.

Lukas was exhausted and the bags under his eyes were both from lack of sleep and from crying.

“Have a seat Mr. Wolfe.” Sherlock said and gestured to the sofa. This was certainly a case.

Lukas sat as instructed. He leaned forward and looked nervously between John and Sherlock. “I’m Noah’s uncle.” Lukas told them and his eyes were drawn to the shelves of Willa’s things. “Erik is my brother and, I know how this sounds but, he’s not guilty.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. It was hardly earthshattering when a family member insisted the innocence of a loved one.

“My brother wouldn’t kill his son. He was the kind of dad who dropped everything for his kids. He was trying to win full custody of Noah and Lydia. Why would he kill Noah?” Lukas pleaded.

Sherlock saw John shift uncomfortably out of the corner of his eye, no doubt trying to come up with a viable reason. “Was he losing?” John asked.

Lukas shook his head. “No. Emma’s an alcoholic without a job while my brother owns one of the top advertising agencies in London. No, there was no way he was losing the case.”

“How did Noah die, Mr. Wolfe?” Sherlock asked and leaned forward in his seat.

“They said nicotine poisoning.” Lukas answered and he began wringing his hands.

“Why are you so nervous?” John asked and Sherlock was irrationally proud of him for having noticed that.

“Well I’m not supposed to be talking about it. I mean Erik’s lawyers put out a gag order on Emma when they heard she wanted to go to the press. They said it would affect his trial.” Lukas admitted. “But when I saw you two with your daughter at the funeral I just couldn’t get it out of my head.”

Sherlock stood abruptly. “I think you should leave, Mr. Wolfe.”

Lukas stood looking bewildered and upset. “Mr. Holmes, please I swear to you my brother didn’t do this.” He pleaded.

Sherlock held up a hand. “I will look into the case but you’ll only complicate it by breaking the anonymity order.”

“Oh thank god.” Lukas sighed in relief and came to shake Sherlock’s hand once more.

John looked at him puzzled after Lukas left. “What was that about?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “My findings will be more compelling if it’s believed I simply looked into this case out of morbid curiosity than if a man breaks the law to tell me about it.”

John nodded slowly. “Fair point. Do you think the father’s innocent?”

“I don’t know but I will ask you one thing, John.” Sherlock said and rounded on him. “How does a six-year-old get nicotine poisoning?”

John’s forehead skewed up as he thought about it. “I have no idea.” He admitted eventually.

“Exactly. I’ll need to see the police reports.”

Sherlock was waiting in Lestrade’s office when he finally decided to arrive at half past nine.

“Jesus Christ.” Lestrade cursed when he opened the door, clearly startled by Sherlock’s presence.

Sherlock put the photo back that he’d been looking at. “I need the files on the Noah Wolfe murder.”

Lestrade crossed to the desk and shook his head. “Not my case.”

Sherlock heaved a loud sigh. “Then point me in the direction of who’s case it _is_.”

“Why?” Lestrade asked and took a sip of his coffee, it was still too hot.

Sherlock didn’t want to mention the brother, instead he angled for Lestrade’s heartstrings. “Noah was Willa’s friend.”

It worked like a charm which was why Sherlock was confused when he felt a bit sick over using Willa’s relationship with the boy like that.

“Jesus, is she okay?” Lestrade asked.

“Not really but John took her to school this morning.” Sherlock answered honestly.

Lestrade nodded and scribbled a note on a piece of paper before handing it to Sherlock. “DI Thomas, she’s young but good. I’ll call ahead and warn her you’re coming.”

As Sherlock went to DI Thomas’ office he examined the feeling of guilt from earlier.

He’d manipulated Lestrade literally hundreds of times and never felt any guilt over it before. So it definitely wasn’t that. The only other option was the fact that he’d used Willa to do it. He hadn’t lied to Lestrade about Willa, Noah really was her classmate. While she didn’t actually know he’d been murdered yet, this would still affect her whenever she found out.  

The more he thought about it the more he realized that the fact he’d used Willa as a pawn was what was unsettling him. He didn’t like the feeling of it and vowed not to do it again unless, of course, it was life or death.

DI Thomas was resolved to test him on that vow. “Why are you interested?” She asked after he told her why he’d come.

Sherlock swallowed down the immediate reaction to tell her what he’d told Lestrade. He especially did not want to mention the brother to her, though. “Because of the boy’s connection to my partner’s daughter.” He said slowly. This didn’t make him feel as uncomfortable.

Thomas nodded in understanding. “Ah the things we do for kids.” She then held out the stack of files to him. “It’s fairly cut and dry though, dad definitely did it.”

 _Be nice_. A voice that sounded suspiciously like John warned him. “Yes, well I’d like to look at it.” Sherlock ground out hoping he didn’t sound as pained as he felt.

Erik Wolfe looked like a perfectly respectable man, even in his prison attire. Sherlock could tell John was thinking the same thing. A perfectly respectable, heartbroken, man.

John went to pick up Willa that day and by the time they returned home Sherlock had been through the case file twice. He’d managed come up with two solid hypotheses as to what happened but he _needed_ to speak to Mr. Wolfe. TShe police had pegged him as their murderer as soon as the hospital had called them. Their biases were leaking through into their investigation left and right.

It took significantly more coaxing than usual but John managed to convince Willa into staying with Mrs. Hudson so he could accompany Sherlock.

“Mr. Wolfe did you inject your son with nicotine?” Sherlock asked without warning.

Erik Wolfe startled at the blunt question. “No. I didn’t.” He ground out at the accusation, his fingers curling into fists.

John sighed on Sherlock’s left. “Then what happened to him? The autopsy,” Erik flinched, “proved he hadn’t ingested it accidently and there were numerous needle marks on his body.”

“Of course there were!” Erik protested. “He’s diabetic. He’s got more track marks than a bloody junky and he’s only six!”

“Then tell me what happened.” Sherlock insisted.

Erik sighed and looked up at the florescent light fixed to the ceiling above him, all of the fight drained from his body. “What’s the point? I didn’t kill him but everyone swears I did. What’s the point?”

John cleared his throat. “Mr. Wolfe are you aware Sherlock has proved people innocent before? If you’re innocent how can it hurt to share your story with the world’s most brilliant detective?”

Sherlock was forced to clamp down on the desire to grin and preen when John praised him. It wouldn’t look appropriate, not now.

Erik looked over at Sherlock with a contemplative face. “Alright.”

Sherlock gestured him on. “The whole day, Mr. Wolfe.”

Erik stared at the table as he spoke. “Noah’s diabetic but he’s got an insulin pump. All morning we were getting high blood sugar warnings so I thought that’s why he was complaining of a stomach ache. By the afternoon I figured the damn thing had to be broken because his sugar wasn’t going down so I finger tested him. I turned off the pump and gave him a bolus _with_ a needle.”

John was leaning forward in his seat, the medical aspect of this case was intriguing him more than usual. “What happened?” He prompted.

“He started throwing up and his sugar was getting so high. I gave him another bolus while I called 999.” Erik explained and tears were running silently down his face. “I had Lydia too so I couldn’t ride with him. When we got to the hospital he was already unconscious. When he… died, the doctors told me it was from the hypoglycemia. I didn’t even know about the nicotine until after Emma showed up.”

“How often did you have your son, Mr. Wolfe?” Sherlock asked.

Erik finally looked up and made eye contact. “What?”

“Your custody agreement with the mother. How often do you have the children?” Sherlock repeated.

“She only gets them every other weekend. That was my weekend with the kids.” Erik explained.

“The insulin in Noah’s pump, when was it last changed?” Sherlock continued with his line of questioning.

Erik looked even more bewildered. “I changed the cartridge on Friday night. Why?”

“Do you send the medicine to his mother or does she have her own?”

“Sherlock?” John asked finally voicing his own confusion.

“We send it back and forth, no reason for her to have her own since they’re almost never there.” Erik answered, finally having given up trying to work out where Sherlock was going with it.

Sherlock stood abruptly. “I think that’ll be all Mr. Wolfe.”

“I… what? What about my case? I didn’t do it.” Erik protested and stood as well, this drew in the attention of a guard.

“I believe you.” Sherlock told him and then turned to John. “Coming?”

“What the bloody hell is going on?” John hissed at him in the cab.

“Erik Wolfe did inject his son with the nicotine.” Sherlock told him after directing the cab towards the medical examiners.

John spluttered in his seat. “I thought you said you believed him?”

“I do.”

John growled. “Sherlock, what the hell?”

Sherlock sighed. “What is the reaction of nicotine and blood sugar?”

“It raises it.” John answered without thinking.

“Exactly. So why would the boy’s blood sugar levels continue rising even though he was getting the insulin he needed? How would he have gotten nicotine poisoning?”

John’s face lit up in understanding. “Because Erik wasn’t injecting him with insulin he was giving him the nicotine, but why would he do that?”

Sherlock was pleased when John finally began understanding. He shook his head at the question. “He _thought_ he was giving the boy insulin.” He corrected.

“The mother?” John cried suddenly. “That’s why you were asking about how they managed his medicine while he was with her. She seemed so upset at the funeral though.”

“She was. I don’t think she meant to kill Noah. She knew she was losing custody of the children and she didn’t want that. She thought if she could make Erik look like a bad parent, a _really_ bad parent, she could win. Nicotine poisoning is rarely fatal.” Sherlock clarified.

“Yeah, because our bodies make us sick before we can smoke more but with that e-cigarette sshit it’s like pure nicotine.” John concluded.

“Exactly. She thought he’d just get a little sick and then she could take him to the doctor. Where she would whisper about her ex-husband and his carelessness in leaving his supplies around where the children could get at it.”

John sighed heavily, completely understanding now. “But she didn’t know, I mean most people don’t. And if it was in the insulin, it would have just kept raising his blood sugar and then he’d get more, a vicious cycle until the dosage was fatal.”

“It was probably fatal long before Erik even thought to take him off the pump.” Sherlock concluded. “We need to test the pump to be sure. He wouldn’t have been buried with it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an FYI, you can actually kill someone this way. I mean you _shouldn't_ but you can. 
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for this story folks!  
> A sequel is already being written.  
> This is like 99.9% put tooth rotting fluff.

The orthopedist cleared Willa to have her cast removed exactly six weeks after she’d broken her arm. John had originally been planning to do the x-rays and removal of the cast himself but after she’d needed a new one he decided he wanted a second opinion on it. She was mesmerized by the flexibility of her own wrist after they removed the cast, less pleased when the doctor informed her she had two more weeks of restricted activity. That was what made John truly glad he’d taken her somewhere else.

Sherlock was in court over the Wolfe case, something he hated immensely but John couldn’t do for him. So he’d taken Willa on his own.

“Should we go out for lunch to celebrate?” John asked her as they walked out of the office.

She nodded excitedly. John was thrilled to see her happy again, she’d spent a few days after Noah’s funeral very quiet and tearful. It was only now, two weeks later, that she was finally beginning to act herself again. It helped that she’d spent Saturday playing with Addison while Mycroft and Greg met with lawyers concerning their own custody hearing.

“Is Sherlock coming?” Willa asked as they walked towards one of the small cafés she enjoyed so much.

John shook his head. “No, he’s busy in court today, he’ll be home later though and I bet he’ll be excited to see you’re arm.”

Willa flashed him a grin when he told her to pick anything off the menu. Not surprisingly she chose a burger and chips which John eyed longingly as he picked at the sensible salad he’d ordered. With any luck she wouldn’t finish all of her chips.

“Is Sherlock my stepdad?” Willa asked out of the blue as she began pulling off the bits of burger she didn’t like, also known as all the veggies.

John paused. “Er, why?”

“Uncle Mycroft is Addison’s stepdad.” Willa explained.

“Oh. Well no Sherlock isn’t, not really. Mycroft is Addison’s stepfather because he and Greg married.” John said trying to explain the finer points of familial relationships.

Willa’s face fell and John immediately cursed himself. “So you and Sherlock would have to get married before he could be my stepdad?”

John considered the question as he took a bite of his salad. “Well that’s a bit complicated because you really usually only get stepparents if you already have two parents.”

“But I only have you.” Willa stated simply.

John nodded.

Willa continued the subject. “So what would that mean?”

“Well if Sherlock adopted you, which would be a bit different than what Molly did, he would be just… your other father I guess.” John explained. It was a difficult process to describe to anyone, much less a child.

Willa didn’t ask anything more and finally began eating her burger.

John was lucky, she left him over half of her chips and several bites of burger. He ordered her an ice cream while he finished.

“If you got married, do you think Sherlock would want to adopt me?” Willa asked between bites of her ice cream.

“Yes.” John answered without hesitation, Willa beamed. There was no doubt in his mind that Sherlock would turn down the opportunity to adopt Willa, even though it hadn’t quiet been six months since he came back.

John watched her eat for a few moments and considered the question. He was fairly certain Willa wasn’t just trying to figure out how their family worked, though that was part of it. He wondered if she was looking for a way for Sherlock to become more than just her father’s partner, to become something meaningful (at least in societies eyes) to her.

Adoption wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d been already considering how to legally designate Sherlock as her guardian after she’d fallen when he was away. John was certain Mycroft had pulled strings to give Sherlock the power to make decisions at the hospital and it was Sherlock’s own stubbornness that had forced the nurses into allowing him to stay with her.

Adoption would truly simplify this process.

“But…” John said slowly and he paused to think about how he wanted to say this. “Sherlock and I don’t actually have to get married first for him to adopt you.” He finished.

Willa looked up in surprise. “You wouldn’t?”

John shook his head. “No, Sherlock could really adopt you at any time if we wanted.”

“What if I wanted him to?” Willa asked carefully, like she was worried about John’s reaction.

John smiled. “Well I’d tell you I think it’s a brilliant idea.”

Willa’s entire face lit up. “Can we ask him?” She bounced in her chair.

John nodded and leaned over to wipe the chocolate ice cream off her chin. “Yes. But would you like to really surprise him?”

Willa nodded excitedly.

“Then don’t say anything to him until I tell you.” John instructed her as he was pulling out his phone.

_How long would it take to get adoption paper’s drawn up?_

_I assume for Willa and Sherlock? – MH_

_Yes._

_I can have them to you on Friday. – MH_

_Please do. Also don’t mention it to Sherlock._

“Can you keep a secret until Saturday?” John asked Willa without waiting for confirmation from Mycroft. He carefully deleted the messages just in case Sherlock decided to steal his phone.

Willa let out a small squeal and nodded her head violently.

Despite the fact that he had impressed upon Willa how vital it was for her to keep it a secret John was finding it difficult to contain his own joy. Sherlock definitely knew something was up from the moment he got home after the way John and Willa exchanged glances and she giggled.

John shooed her up the stairs and tried to plaster on his most innocent face.

“What are you two so happy about?” Sherlock asked, his eyes narrowed.

John shook his head. “Nothing, just happy she’s got her cast off.”

Sherlock made a noise. “You’re terrible at lying John.”

John turned towards the stove and messed with the kettle so Sherlock couldn’t see his smile. “Why would I be lying? We are very happy she’s got the cast off. Aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m happy.” Sherlock said but his voice still sounded suspicious.

John wondered what the chances were that Sherlock would guess what they were up to by Saturday evening. He’d already made all the plans and decently covered his tracks, there were no clues on his mobile or computer, and he doubted Mycroft would spill the news.

Sherlock was suddenly crowding up behind him. “John, what are you and Willa up to?” He asked

John shook his head. “Nothing.”

Sherlock leaned down and nipped at his neck, John nearly dropped the kettle. “John.”

John chuckled when he realized what Sherlock was trying to do. “Not going to work, Sherlock.”

“John.” Sherlock growled and leaned down to pepper soft kisses to his neck. It was such a contradiction from his tone that John shivered and leaned backwards into the touches.

“You can keep going but it’s not going to work.” John repeated even as his hand rose to pin Sherlock’s head to his neck.

Sherlock hummed against his throat. “I don’t know, you say all kinds of things in bed.” His voice was muffled by John’s skin but it sent vibrations down his spine.

John was getting hard and the way Sherlock was rocking his hips into John’s arse he could feel him getting that way as well. His eyes flickered to the ceiling above and he wondered how long they would have before Willa came down to interrupt them. Sherlock chose that moment to nip at the join of his neck and shoulder.

“Stop Sherlock.” John said through gritted teeth, because that was the very last thing he wanted to say. “Sherlock, stop.” He repeated and tugged at Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock pulled his mouth away. “Why?”

John untangled his fingers from the other man’s hair and pointed upwards. “She’ll be down any minute.”

Sherlock moved completely away from John then. “Willa.” He called.

John raised an eyebrow at him wondering what the hell he was doing.

Willa thundered down the stairs as soon as Sherlock called her. She eyed John (and what he assumed was his flushed face) suspiciously as she came into the kitchen.

“Why don’t you go downstairs and show Nana that you’re arm’s all healed?” Sherlock proposed as he leaned on the table, providing John a fantastic view of his arse. He tried not to blatantly stare while his daughter was in the room.

Willa still looked suspicious.

“Maybe you two can bake those cookies now that you can use both hands again.” Sherlock suggested, giving her even more incentive to go downstairs.

Willa looked excited then. “Alright!”

Sherlock followed her into the hall and John strained to hear her feet on the stairs, a knock and then the door open.

From the kitchen he could hear muffled chatting downstairs and then his phone went off. John pulled it from his pocket.

_+44 7700 900651  
We need to talk. I’ll be in town tomorrow. Dinner?_

John sighed at the phone and quickly typed.

 _No_.

Sherlock walked back into the room as John slid the phone back into his pocket. 

“Now what were we doing?” He asked grinning wickedly.

~~~~~~

Sherlock rolled his eyes as John immaturely stuck his tongue out at him from where he was laying on the bed.

Forty straight minutes of ravishing and John hadn’t given him anything. Well, hadn’t given him anything concerning the little secret he was keeping with Willa. It was obviously about him given the way they both had trouble keeping straight faces when he’d gotten home earlier.

“I told you I wasn’t going to tell you anything.” John teased seeing his scowl.

Sherlock growled playfully. “I’ll figure it out John. Employing Willa to keep a secret? Really?”

John threw his head back and laughed.

Sherlock found himself smiling fondly at the other man. John was always especially gorgeous like this. Sated and sweaty lying naked across the bed, completely unashamed of himself. The sunlight in the room made this moment especially endearing, as this normally happened late at night.

“You, love,” John said as he rolled onto his side with a great deal of theatrics, “now get to go pick up Willa from Mrs. Hudson’s.”

Sherlock tossed the flannel at John and it smacked him in the face. “Why?”

John pulled the cloth off of his face. “Because I am naked and I am also _not_ the one who got her out of the flat just for an afternoon shag.”

“I was naked less than a minute ago.” Sherlock reminded him even as he continued to button his shirt.

John shook his head. “Still not the one who pawned off the kid for sex time.”

Mrs. Hudson opened the door with a knowing smirk. “I don’t mind dear, I know you and John still have so much time to make up for.” She reassured him with a pat on the arm.

Sherlock ignored her comments and found Willa sitting in the kitchen looking longingly at the oven. They were making chocolate macadamia nut cookies judging by the smell. There was an assortment of wooden blocks and various tools laid out on the table as well.

“Wood burning?” Sherlock asked.

Mrs. Hudson made a noise of agreement. “Well I’m not going to take up knitting now am I?” She asked sounding affronted.

“Of course not.” Sherlock told her because _of course_ there was no way anyone in his life could do anything normally, especially not her.

On Friday night, as John grabbed his coat right after dinner, Sherlock looked up at him. “Is everything alright?”

John flashed him a smile. “Yeah, why?”

“This is the second time this week you’ve gone out after Willa’s gone to bed.” Sherlock informed him.

Judging by John’s grin it had something to do with the secret he and Willa were keeping.

“Yeah, sorry about that. How about I make it up to you?” John offered as he stood by the door, pushing his hands into his pocket.

Sherlock was instantly intrigued. “How so?”

“Tomorrow night, let’s all three of us go out for dinner.” John suggested. “I’ll be yours all evening then, to do whatever you want with.” John’s smile became dirty.

Sherlock hummed like he was thinking. “I think that’ll be nice.” He agreed. “Where?”

John shrugged and shammed at thinking. It was clear he already had a place in mind. “Angelo’s?”

Sherlock nodded. “That sound’s good.”

After John left Sherlock considered going upstairs to interrogate Willa. He hadn’t asked her so far and he was trying to resist. It felt like cheating, asking the child what their little secret was, she was even worse at lying than John. In the end he decided not to, it was on him if he didn’t figure out the secret by tomorrow night’s dinner.

Sherlock was practically a live wire by the time they left for dinner Saturday night. Despite having walked in on John and Willa clearly discussing whatever it was he hadn’t been able to hear much. What he had heard only confirmed his suspicions that this secret was the real reason behind why they were going out to dinner tonight.

Their table by the window was open and a candle was already there. Both John and Willa slid into the bench seat so their backs were to the street. Sherlock smiled fondly as he sat, it was a little like the first night he and John had eaten here. With a bit of an addition of course.

John grinned at him and leaned over to press a kiss to his lips. Willa refrained from making rude noises at them and giggled instead as she pulled off her bizarre bear backpack she’d insisted on bringing with.

Dinner was pleasant and Angelo fussed over them. It was hard to tell if Angelo knew what was going on, he was always over attentive to them. He loved Willa even more than Sherlock or John and no matter what she ordered there was always something special added on to the plate just to please her.

“Shall we have dessert?” Sherlock asked after their plates had been cleared away. Secretly he was hoping they would reveal whatever they were planning but he couldn’t show his eagerness, no doubt John would taunt him over it.

John looked over at Willa who nodded.

“Sherlock we… well Willa actually, she wants to ask you something.” John said cautiously before nudging Willa.

Willa smiled shyly at Sherlock and Sherlock waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts. He could see Angelo in the reflection of the glass, watching them.

“Sherlock. I wanted to ask you…” She trailed off until John squeezed her hand and gave her an encouraging smile.

With her courage renewed she began speaking again. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted to adopt me, to become my Papa.” She finished quickly.

Sherlock blinked.

Of all of the options about what their secret had been, this possibility had never even entered his mind. He never even let himself consider this at all, ever. Never tried to imagine himself as someone’s actual father, as their _Papa_ as Willa had said. Yes, he and John had once had that very abstract conversation about more children but it had never gone beyond that.

Now Willa was asking him, obviously with John’s approval, to adopt her. It was something beyond his wildest imaginings and only now did he realize how badly he wanted it.

Suddenly there was a sharp kick to his shin and when Sherlock finally began processing stimulus outside of his brain he saw John jerking his head towards Willa.  She was still looking at Sherlock with such hope in her eyes but her smile had fallen just a little.

“Yes.” He croaked out finally.

Willa squealed, jumped up and came around to him in order to climb into his lap. “Really?” She asked.

Her face was better than anything Sherlock had ever seen up until this moment and there was absolutely no way he would ever say no to her. “Yes, of course. Willa I would be honored to become your Papa.” She made another squealing noise, right by his ear, but Sherlock didn’t mind. He hugged her closer to him.

 He looked up to see John smiling at them, there were tears in the corners of his eyes. As though suddenly made aware of tears Sherlock became cognizant of ones of his own forming.

John produced an envelope from Willa’s backpack and placed it in the center of the table. “Everything is drawn up already, all you have to do is sign in about a hundred places. Then we send it off to the courts and wait for them to tell us when it’ll be finalized.”

Sherlock looked down at the envelope in shock. “You’re… serious?”

It was a stupid question. John would never have allowed Willa to ask him if he wasn’t serious but the fact that he’d already gotten the papers taken care of that was when Sherlock realized exactly how serious John was.

John nodded. “Yeah, of course. I signed where I had to last night. It’s just up to you now.”

Sherlock, with Willa still in his lap, leaned forward to haul John into a kiss.

“We’ll mail them in the morning.” Sherlock promised him against his lips.

John chuckled. “No post tomorrow, how about Monday?”

Sherlock shook his head. “No… I’ll find a way to send it out tomorrow.”

John laughed and kissed him again. “Of course you will.”

Sherlock signed the papers as soon as they got home, then folded them and put the envelope on the mantel. He wasn’t kidding when he told John he’d find a way to send it out tomorrow, what good was Mycroft if he couldn’t make things like that happen.

He was halfway out the door of Willa’s room after they both tucked her in when she called out. “Goodnight daddy, goodnight papa.”

Sherlock leaned against the rail as his knees threatened to give out. It was the first time she actually had called him that name, not just asked if she could. “Goodnight, Willa.” His voice was weak even to his own ears.

John wrapped his arms around his waist. “You going to be alright?”

Sherlock turned and looked over John’s head at Willa’s room, his daughter’s room, _their_ daughter’s room and he nodded. “I’ve never been better.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for following this story. Each and every kudo and comment means so much to me, you can't even understand.  
> The sequel is coming but it's going to be a bit more angsty? badassy? than this. It's also going to change POV a whole lot more than just from John to Sherlock and back. 
> 
> Stalk me:  
> [ My Tumblr ](https://tumbleweed-run.tumblr.com/)


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